Hawaiki
by Masterdramon
Summary: The year is 1790, and a TimeDancing Brooklyn and his companions find themselves in Hawai'i, where the expansionist campaign of Kamehameha I threatens to push the local clan into extinction. But their civil war also risks unleashing something far worse - an evil not seen since the darkest days of Mab. Direct follow-up to Algernon84's "Daughter of Night" and Gryphinwyrm7's "Vessels."
1. Episode I: Honua

_**Gargoyles: TimeDancer – Hawaiki – Episode I: Honua**_

 _Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Gargoyles. All Gargoyles-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Disney, Greg Weisman, and Frank Paur._

[-]

 **A/N: This is my first entry in the fantastic shared universe of** _ **Gargoyles**_ **fics already established by Algernon84, Gryphinwyrm7, and GregX. It is a direct follow-up to two previous TimeDancer fics – Algernon's "Old Night" and Gryphinwyrm's "Vessels" – and assumes familiarity with both those stories.**

 **I highly recommend you check out the brilliant works of these esteemed friends and colleagues, and together with Bookwyrm and Brainiac, I thank them all for the advice and guidance provided in crafting my own.**

 **Additional thanks to the fantastic fanartist Kordyne (kordyne . deviantart . com), whose labors have provided the cover art for this story. I couldn't be happier to see the character of Makani brought so vibrantly to life.**

 **And so, with all that out of the way…**

 **Let us begin.**

[-]

 _The story is told…though who can say if it be true…_

 _In the beginning, there was_ Pō, _the endless Nothingness. The dark Chaos where the Earth, which was its Mother, and the Sky, which was its Father, met in eternal embrace._

 _But amidst the Darkness, there came forth a single point of Light. This was Kāne, Creator of the Dawn and the Sun and the Beautiful Things._

 _In time, Kāne came to understand that he was apart from his Parents, and pulled himself from their womb. And so too did come his Brothers._

 _These were the Four Great Gods: Kāne, of the Land; Kanaloa, of the Sea; Kū, of War; and Lono, of Peace._

 _The gods looked upon the world, and saw that it was good. But it was also missing a great many things. And so the Gods, the greatest craftsman who ever lived, began to bring forth wonders…_

 _First, there were the lesser creatures of the sea. The worm and the urchin and the coral. And for them all, the sustenance that brought them life – the moss and fern and grass. These, the first plants, were guided to the land, so that the creatures might one day follow._

 _Next were the fish and the sea's greater creatures. Shark and crab and octopus. And each that swam through the ocean, gained a powerful guardian on land. This is how the trees came to grow._

 _Then, came the flying creatures, from the grandest bird to the tiniest butterfly. There were those, the crow and the hawk and the goose, that flew above the land. There were those, swallow and duck and tern, that flew above the water. But Kāne's greatest and most precious Creation could soar above both._

 _There were crawling creatures and there were clinging creatures. The digging creatures and the pilfering creatures. The nibbling creatures and the slimy creatures._

 _There was_ Kalo, _the first attempt of the Gods to make a being in their own image. And then there was_ Ki'i, _the male, and_ La'ila'i, _the female. From her loins, by Ki'i_ _and by Kāne both, followed the descent of all the bloodlines of man._

 _There were the lesser Gods, to govern all these wonderful new things. Gods of fire and snow; of wind and thunder; of the Moon and the Underworld. There were Gods, soon, in all things._

 _In time, however, the Gods began to realize there was a problem. When the world was young, it'd had very few things, and so it had no trouble containing them._

 _But with every passing night, more and more of their Creations came to life. The age of_ Pō _was over. Now, all the creatures and the plants and the peoples they'd crafted needed one last thing._

 _They needed a home._

 _And so, the Four Great Gods, who'd begun to drift apart as their Creation unfolded, came together one last time. They used all their mightiest sorcery and their cleverest craftsmanship. And with it, they formed their greatest Creation of all._

 _They created…_

Hawaiki.

[-]

 **Ka'ū Desert, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"Okay, just for the record, Zee…" said Brooklyn, struggling to be heard over the din. "No offense, but I blame _you_ for this."

"Because during our Dance to those 'Heema-laya,' I complained _once_ about the cold?" Zafira shot back, bright red arms held over her face, shielding it from the blistering winds. "That does not mean that…!"

"My friend, my love. With due respect, perhaps we should finish this conversation another time?" called out Benuthet, cutting across his mate. The other two gargoyles took another look at their surroundings and quickly nodded.

Proximity to an erupting volcano tended to forestall any other discussion topics.

The volcano had already been spewing hot ash and toxic gas when the Phoenix first deposited them here, something that Brooklyn had little reason to chock up as a coincidence. He wasn't sure if the Time-Fowl had a sense of humor, but after their last few "whacky misadventures" he had to assume it was a pretty sick one.

Indeed, they'd been so occupied with fleeing as far as possible from the fire-spewing mountain that, nearly an hour later, he still had _no_ freaking clue when _or_ where they were.

The lack of history or geography texts he'd ever thought to pop open in the twentieth century was something he regretted on at least an _hourly_ basis, but he tended to have _some_ idea by this point. If only because the first hour usually involved tumbling into someone, friend or foe, who was only too happy to provide him with convenient exposition.

Right now, the volcano and the greenery – as grand and lush as Guatemala, but with a very different range of plants – were his only two clues, and he was a little too busy gliding for his life away from the former to give the latter much thought.

Brooklyn had seen volcanoes on TV before, but it became clear fairly quickly that cartoons tended to get them _pretty_ wrong. Though the lava flow was still quite some distance away, his skin felt like it was seconds away from boiling, and Zee and Benny didn't look much better.

The heat, however, was at best only a secondary concern. Enormous plumes of billowing smoke, so thick that it almost looked solid, burst forth from the volcano in volumes that defied description. It spread across the sky, covering the moon and stars like a massive shroud and choking the very life out of the air around them.

Brooklyn didn't want to imagine what'd happen if they actually _breathed_ the smoke.

Unfortunately, the sheer amount of chaos the eruption was wreaking on the wind currents made it difficult to sustain a glide for long. The movements of the trio – especially with the added burden of two gargoyle beasts – were sporadic and uneven, and despite their best efforts had them losing altitude remarkably quickly.

They were drifting, now, over a vast, expansive desert, downwind from the volcano and devoid of any vegetation. Its sands were a dull, unpleasant gray, the same shade as much of the smoke and ash spewing from the nearby crater.

It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. _Or_ to realize that they'd better get away from this desert, _pronto._

But the winds were growing less and less cooperative by the moment, and with the smoke so close behind he knew they couldn't afford to take a detour. It wasn't the sort of thing they could _possibly_ outrun, or even outglide.

Their only hope was to keep moving forward, as quickly as possible, and cross their talons they'd find shelter before too long.

With his arms full with Fu-Dog and Benny similarly burdened by Kebechet, Zee had taken point toward the front of their formation, and so it was she who first spotted the figures below.

"My love, Brooklyn, hold a moment!" she exclaimed, pointing.

Both followed the arc of her claw with their eyes, and immediately realized what she was gesturing to. Against the monochrome sands, they stood out rather starkly.

A formation of _dozens_ of humans, each shirtless and clad in warrior's garb.

The three gargoyles were only a few hundred feet above them, and about a thousand behind, but the warriors didn't seem to notice them, marching resolutely forward as if nothing was happening. This was despite the violently shaking ground and toxic ash that was, at most, a few minutes from catching up with them.

These were men who were doomed to die, and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that fact.

"We could save a few of them, perhaps, but not all. Not enough," said Benny, echoing what all three of them were thinking. "And I don't have any talismans capable of changing that situation."

"What about that helmet from Babylon?" asked Brooklyn, eyes narrowed at the crowd below. "Marduk said it was an 'emergencies only' sort of thing. Well, I think a giant spewing fire-mountain qualifies."

But Benuthet just shook his leonine head. "It's usable only under a full moon, I'm afraid," he told his friend. "Right now it's little more than a very shiny drinking tin. With eyeholes."

"Either way, we need to make a decision," Zee cut across her mate, frowning. "Another thirty seconds and we'll overtake them. Do we attempt a rescue or not?"

Brooklyn looked back down upon the warriors, feeling torn. On the one hand, he hated to stand by – or glide by, in this case – and watch someone, _anyone,_ die, when he was capable of saving them. In these last, long years of Dancing, he'd already had to witness it more times than he could count.

On the other…those humans were _very_ heavily armed, and their spears and blades looked _sharp._ They were no doubt in a panicked state already, whether or not they were willing to show it, and there was no guarantee they wouldn't react violently to a bunch of flying monsters swooping down on them.

He still hadn't figured out where in the world they were, but neither their surroundings nor the humans' clothing brought to mind any clans he was familiar with.

Brooklyn growled under his breath. This was why he'd been a poor Second for so long. He _hated_ decisions like this.

"Okay…alright, let's…" he started to say, _still_ not sure what his answer should be. But his words were rendered moot a moment later.

Because they weren't alone in the skies that night.

They'd passed by a low-lying mountain ridge about half a minute ago, and failed to notice until now the three-dozen winged figures who'd leapt from its peak. But now they'd drawn about level with the trio, and Brooklyn was able to get a fairly decent look at them.

All of them looked distinctly avian, their beaks and wings somewhat resembling Griff's, with clothing that – at a glance – seemed to match those of the human warriors in style and color. At the head of the formation was a green-skinned, muscular female.

They were too far away to call out to, but the female looked over to them, a look of utter astonishment upon her face. It passed quickly, however, and she locked eyes with Brooklyn, nodding.

Then she said something to her fellows, and they all dived at once.

"Guess that answers that," he declared, somewhat lamely. "Alright, let's do this!"

The time-travelers quickly followed their lead, gliding as straight a path as the winds would allow toward the warriors. As they drew closer several of the humans finally took notice, and after a few seconds of tugging on arms nearly the entire formation stopped in their tracks to look up.

But none of them reached for their weapons. On the contrary, most looked _jubilant,_ and a number cried something that sounded like, " _Nawao! Nawao!_ "

Brooklyn had no idea what "Nawao" meant, or even what language it was. But the Phoenix hadn't automatically translated it, and there was usually a reason for that. Not that the big birdie was ever forthcoming with explanations, of course.

Still, the humans offered no resistance as both the trio and the numerous "local" gargoyles grabbed onto as many as they could. With each of them carrying at least two and several of them three, they managed to lift the entire war party off their feet – _barely._

It became clear, fairly quickly, that neither he nor the female had thought this whole thing through. While they now had their claws upon all eighty or so of the humans, said humans were also _really_ heavy, and the lift required to return to the skies simply wasn't there.

Brooklyn and Benuthet had a particularly difficult job of it, having to dangle one warrior from each hand and also keep their arms crossed to press the beasts against their bodies. It was an incredibly uncomfortable situation for all involved, and one they wouldn't be able to sustain for long.

Before he could articulate this to any of the others, however, a sudden and intense updraft swept through the desert, filling their wings at _just_ the right angle. Suddenly, inexplicably, their charges felt light as air, and the forty-odd gargoyles were _soaring_ again, their path veering away from the desert and toward a distant forest.

Brooklyn chanced a brief, nerve-wracking glance back toward the volcano. Somehow, even though it didn't seem possible, they were now _gaining_ on the smoke.

The gargoyles sped from the desert as fast as the miraculous tailwind would take them, leaving behind only the warriors' weapons, and the footprints they'd left in the sand.

Several minutes later, a thousand tons of ash and toxic gas spewed over the landscape, fossilizing the footprints in an instant.

[-]

 **Kawaihae,** **Hawai'i Island,** **1790 A.D.**

The eruption could be seen from thousands of miles away – the greatest fury unleashed by the great mountain Kīlauea in all of known history.

So it was hardly a surprise that it drew its share of eyes all across the island.

One pair, owned by a Caucasian man with curly black hair and sallow cheeks, narrowed as he watched the explosions cleave the night air in twain. His brain, meanwhile, was working overtime to do rough calculations of the island's geography, and all the possible routes it held for military movements.

Slowly, a smile spread across his face. Could they _really_ have been so fortunate?

"Petition that the King be roused," he demanded of a nearby warrior, who guarded his dwelling on the edge of Kawaihae.

It wasn't an order he'd have given lightly, given the precariousness of his… _present_ _position._ But if he was right, this was _absolutely_ worth an early rise on the King's behalf.

He turned back to the violent eruption, using a spyglass to get a better view.

"It seems the Almighty smiles on his ambitions this night."

[-]

 **Kapapala Forest,** **Hawai'i Island,** **1790 A.D.**

The mysterious updraft vanished as quickly as it'd started.

Thankfully, by the time it did, the mixed party of gargoyles and humans was just barely outside the volcano's danger zone, and they were able to land in a forest clearing without too much issue.

For their part, the warriors seemed understandably relieved to be on solid ground again – though none more so than the four Brooklyn and Benny had struggled to carry. The moment their feet touched the soft grass, the men put as much distance as they could between themselves and their rescuers…

Or rather, their beasts.

While none of the humans seemed to have the slightest trepidations about the gargoyles themselves, all seemed – at _best_ – wary of Fu-Dog and Kebechet, muttering under their breaths and shooting over furtive, questioning looks. Actually, on second glance, many of the "local" gargoyles seemed to be doing the same.

For the first time, Brooklyn was look up close at the three dozen or so who'd joined them in rescuing the warriors. From this distance, their birdlike appearance was even more distinct, with every single gargoyle he could see sporting some sort of beak – some small and curved to a sharp point, others even longer than his own.

It sent a strange, unintended thrill down his spine. It wasn't like he was especially self-conscious about his beak, but still…he'd never encountered a clan where beaked gargoyles were the _majority._

While there was a wide variety of colors and body types on display, a few other similarities jumped out upon further inspection. Each one, male and female alike, seemed to be wearing their hair long and full, and their two-toned feathered wings possessed neither claw-tips nor ribbing.

Most unusually, every single one of them _also_ appeared to lack tails.

His first impression that their clothing resembled that of the human warriors turned out to be right on the money. It was actually somewhat off-putting. While it wasn't unusual for gargoyle and human fashion trends to mirror each other within a given culture – both Benuthet and Zafira were obvious proof – he'd never really seen them match up _this_ closely. Shrink or grow them a couple sizes, and the garments could've been more or less interchangeable.

Another commonality between the two species was a wide range of black markings, many of them fairly intricate, that lined most of their skins. He could see Benny studying the nearest ones with puzzlement, but before he could say anything, the leaders of each party had begun to speak.

"You have our thanks, _Nawao,_ " said a human with tanned skin and powerful muscles. He wore little but a feathered loincloth, headdress, and shoulder-length cape, composed entirely of what looked like black feathers. "Shall I take this as proof you've sided against the usurper?"

"We…take no sides in human wars," the green female answered, not making eye contact with the man. Despite her immense stature, her voice was surprisingly soft, with a slight rasp to it. "We would've saved the king's men just as quickly, had _they_ been foolish enough to march down Kīlauea."

The human's expression turned suddenly fierce. And he was hardly alone among his men.

"Kamehameha is no _king_ of mine!" he roared, and the lead gargoyle actually _flinched._ "I am Keōua Kuahuʻula, son of Kalaniʻōpuʻu-a-Kaiamamao! With my brother dead at that bastard's hands, the island of Hawai'i rightfully belongs to _me!_ "

Brooklyn's eyes widened briefly. So _that's_ where they were? Although in retrospect, perhaps the volcano should've been a big tipoff…

"None of which changes _any_ of what she just said, buddy," offered a male gargoyle, his skin a light, sandy tan. His demeanor exuded a quiet, relaxed confidence. "So why don't we all just part as friends and leave things there?"

"I will be friends with _no one_ who stands in my way. Not man, not woman, not child. Not even _Nawao,_ " said Keōua. No trace of his initial gratitude remained on his face. "So one last time, I petition your clan for aid. You could be just what we need to counter the usurper's filthy _hā_ _ʻ_ _ole._ "

"Honua's given you her answer. As her Second, I couldn't override her, even if I wanted to," the female told him quietly. "All we ask is to be left alone."

"And how well has _that_ been working out for you?" the human sneered. "Know this, _Nawao._ You'd do better with me as an ally than an enemy. Kamehameha doesn't care about the old ways – only his own power. If he succeeds in conquering the islands, it'll be the end for your race. I'm your _last_ hope."

"I think it's best you don't make idle threats against the chosen of Kāne, in his _own_ forest," declared the brown-skinned gargoyle, his beak curled warningly. "Especially not after you _seriously_ pissed off Pele in the same day."

Keōua's eyes narrowed back at them both, but there was a flicker of something else in them now: _fear._

"It will take some time to regroup my forces. Even with _these_ men saved, my losses at Maui and Hilo were… _significant,_ " he admitted. "But I _will_ march against the usurper, by next summer's end. For the sake of the gods…your leader had _best_ see reason before then."

And with that, he signaled his warriors, hollering and pointing to a wide spot through the trees.

Several of the humans gave the gargoyles lingering, unreadable looks. But ultimately, they all followed their leader out of the clearing.

Brooklyn watched the eighty-strong legion depart, his own expression just as inscrutable. Mostly because even _he_ wasn't sure how he felt about everything he'd just heard…or how much he even _understood._

His attention snapped back to the gargoyles who'd been left behind, however, as he was alerted by a sound he knew all too well – but one he hadn't been expecting to hear at _all._

The green-hued female was _crying,_ enormous hands dabbing at her eyes as she slowly, timorously, walked forward.

"We're _not_ the last…" she whispered, her voice breathless out of pure, joyous awe. "We're not alone."

[-]

She was, Brooklyn had to say, _easily_ the most physically imposing female he'd ever seen.

Mind, that image was diminished somewhat by the fact that she was currently bawling her eyes out, but nevertheless this was someone who looked like she could take on Goliath in an arm-wrestling match – and have a good chance at _winning._

She was taller than any of them, rising to at least seven feet, with thick muscles and broad shoulders. Her skin was a deep, leafy green, while her feathered wings were two shades of dull brown. Thick, black, wavy hair flowed down past her shoulders.

Like the rest of her female clansmembers, she was dressed in two thin wraps, around the waist and chest; the males lacked the latter. At a glance, they seemed to be made out of some kind of plant fiber. Hers were a light tan color, with simple patterns of triangles and diamonds upon the surface.

Most eye-catching, however, was her left arm. It was covered from shoulder to wrist with those strange black markings, which, up close, revealed themselves to be an intricate set of geometric shapes and curved, crisscrossing lines. The patterns on her forearm had a distinct motif of flowing wind.

"Tattoos…" Benuthet said quietly, speaking up for the first time since they'd landed. "I was under the impression gargoyles couldn't get them. Several of my friends in Rome attempted the process, but stone sleep always healed the 'damage' by sunset."

"Really?" asked the female, looking confused. "We've never had any trouble maintaining our _kākau._ Perhaps they didn't carve deep enough?"

"Excuse me… _carve?_ " Brooklyn repeated, unable to help himself.

" _Kākau_ are created by gouging holes in the skin with a big, sharp bone," the brown-skinned gargoyle supplied helpfully. And it looked like he should know, given that his entire torso was covered front _and_ back with them. "Then you 'tap' black ink into the open wound. Usually made from soot and plant juices."

Identical, awkward faces appeared on the Scottish, Egyptian, and Mayan gargoyles alike, as they struggled simultaneously not to grimace.

None of them were exactly strangers to pain, but _intentionally_ scarring themselves, beyond the capacity of stone sleep to heal?

That sounded… _less_ than fun.

"Perhaps the Spell of Humility is also at play," said Zafira, who recovered quickest. "If they think of these patterns as 'theirs,' then the ink may turn to stone as they do."

Benuthet took on an intrigued expression. "I'd honestly never considered that as a factor," he replied. "I suppose the Spell's still so new to me, that I haven't fully thought through all its implications."

The leonine gargoyle suddenly stopped speaking, and his mouth twisted downward into a frown.

"But we're being rude. My apologies, those shouldn't have been the first words out of my mouth. My scholarly mind sometimes works faster than my manners," he told the tattooed gargoyles. "I am Benuthet, and these are Brooklyn and Zafira."

The beasts walked over and began sniffing the tan-skinned male, before making pleased sounds and licking his talons. "And Fu-Dog and Kebechet, of course," Benny added hastily.

Alone among his clan, the brown gargoyle – who was somehow even _more_ enormous in stature than the female – seemed well at ease with the two beasts, bending down and petting them both playfully. He curled his ocean-blue feathered wings around them, his beak curving into a contented smile.

The green-hued gargoyle, for her part, had wiped the last of her tears away, but now was flushing deeply instead, her head turned askance.

"No, no, no! The rudeness is…it's _my_ fault. I…I wasn't sure how to ask," she said, her voice only barely audible. For whatever reason, she sounded _incredibly_ nervous. "But I'm, uh…Makani. And this is…"

"Awāwa!" interjected the male, cutting off whatever she'd been about to say. "Pleased to meet ya! And welcome…to the isle of Hawai'i."

He and Makani both offered their tattooed arms, the latter somewhat hesitantly. Benuthet clasped with Awāwa in a warrior's handshake, while Zafira did the same for Makani, though that only seemed to deepen the pink in her cheeks.

Brooklyn, meanwhile, still had his beak hung open in quiet awe. "Wow…so this really _is_ Hawaii," he whispered to himself. "Always wanted to go. _Not_ exactly how I expected it to happen, but…"

"You are familiar with this place already, my friend?" asked Benny. "Is it near your 'Manhattan' island?"

The sword-wielding gargoyle shook his head. "No, it's just…umm…" he said, trying to figure out how best to put this. He lowered his voice, so only his two companions could easily hear his next words. "In my time, it's one of those places _everyone_ wants to go. Like…if you looked up 'paradise' in a book, you'd probably see a picture of Hawaii."

"Ah, I see," responded the scholar. "Somewhat akin to the Greek Arcadia?"

"Except no one gives away tickets to Arcadia on _Wheel of Fortune,_ " Brooklyn quipped, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Awāwa, who'd finally disentangled himself from the beasts eager tongues and playful maws, seemed to have caught that last bit, because he exclaimed jocularly, "Wheel…of Fortune? Tell me of this 'Wheel of Fortune'! Its name intrigues me!"

Brooklyn mentally kicked himself. " _Gotta_ quit it with the pop culture references," he muttered under his breath. "Anyway, it's just a game. Nothing important."

"Ah, but I _like_ games," said the brown-skinned gargoyle. "Teach me the rules of this 'Wheel of Fortune,' so that I may become its champion!"

None of them were quite sure how to respond to that.

Eventually, after a few moments of silence, Makani mumbled, "Is…there a reason you keep saying it like that? Please don't be offended, but it's…umm… _Hawai'i._ "

She'd pronounced it, as Keōua and Awāwa both had, with a "v" sound in the middle, and a pronounced glottal stop between the last two vowels.

"Oh, sorry. We're, err…not from around here," answered Brooklyn, chuckling awkwardly.

"I gathered as much, from your strange names and garb," said Makani, her eyes drifting over to the beasts – both of whom still seemed _endlessly_ fascinated by her tan friend. "Not to mention your, erm… _companions._ "

"You are not familiar with _sha?_ " asked Benny, his face falling slightly. "With gargoyle beasts?"

"I've seen my fair share of clans with no surviving beasts," Brooklyn informed him, accompanying his words with a long, heavy sigh. "Not usually this early in history, though. Or…well, how early it _feels_ like. I don't actually know what year it is right now."

Unsurprisingly, neither Makani nor Awāwa seemed to have quite followed that last train of thought.

Still, the latter dutifully explained, "The humans of this island have never tracked that sort of thing. But our leader's talked with two of the _hā_ _ʻ_ _ole_ before. Guys called 'John' and 'Isaac.' I think they said it was 1790, in the year of their Lord."

Brooklyn shared a sideways glance with his traveling companions. He didn't know a ton about Hawaiian history, but he had a vague sense that the introduction of men named "John" and "Isaac" hadn't meant a lot of good things for the locals.

Especially since he'd never heard of any kind of Hawaiian Clan in the 1990s.

"Could you take us to your clan leader?" he said to Makani, voice serious. "We'd like to know more about the situation on this island, if you don't mind."

The green-skinned gargoyle looked rather hesitant. Apparently out of instinct, she glanced toward Awāwa, who just smiled broadly.

That seemed to be enough for her, however, and she nodded.

"It's a fair glide from here," she stated, turning to her thirty-plus clansmembers – all of whom had been watching this exchange in silence, with varying degrees of patience. "Alright…let's go home."

[-]

"We had no idea other _Nawao_ even survived outside this island," said Makani, continuing to speak as they glided. Brooklyn couldn't help but notice her voice no longer shook or stuttered, as if simply being in the air made her feel more at ease. "Of course, the others were well-populated during the Great Voyage. But the centuries since…haven't been kind."

That answered one question, at least – _Nawao_ must've been the Hawaiian word for "gargoyle," the way that Benny favored _Harmakhis._

But it still left a _lot_ of others remaining.

They were gliding along the side of a mountain, now, hugging the side that faced away from the ocean. The view around them, of rolling mists and lush plants soaked by recent rain – would've been breathtaking, had they the time to stop and admire it.

Awāwa had hung toward the rear of the formation, to keep an eye out for possible trouble. This meant the three "guests," and their beasts, were the only ones within earshot of the Second-in-Command.

"Let's start with this 'Great Voyage' business," piped up Zafira, drawing level with her fellow female. Again, a strange look momentarily appeared upon Makani's face, though her cheeks remained green this time. "If you weren't born to this island, where did your clan _come_ from?"

"We…only have legends now," Makani replied softly. "I can't tell you if they hold any truth. But they speak of a homeland to which we all once belonged – human and _Nawao_ alike. Perhaps even your 'beasts,' as well. A homeland…that no longer exists."

"A friend of my clan has a saying about truth versus accuracy that's probably appropriate now," said Brooklyn. "Either way, I think it's worth hearing about this 'legend.'"

Makani gave them a muted nod as they glided by, not making eye contact.

"The humans of every island call it by a different name, but they all remember it still," she told them. "Here, they know it as Hawaiki. You called our island 'paradise,' _Pluk'līn._ But Hawaiki was a _true_ paradise. Endless in its bounty of food and water. Free from predators or disease. They say both races lived together in harmony for _thousands_ of years."

Brooklyn tried to take all this in…but he also couldn't help focusing on one other part.

"Err…what'd you just call me?" he asked, trying to sound friendly. He didn't want to make her start crying again.

The tattooed gargoyle looked confused. "Did…Did I not get it right? It's what you called yourself, did you not?" she responded, her voice becoming small. With a slightly trembling talon, she gestured to each of them in turn. " _Pluk'līn_ … _Penukek_ … _Kāpira._ "

Brooklyn glanced over to Benny, who was usually the best at deducing these sorts of things. After giving it some thought, the scholar offered his companions his best guess.

"Her native language must lack several of the sounds ours take for granted," he said. "When she speaks it normally, the translation magic of the Phoenix compensates. But she's trying to repeat what _we_ said, exactly as she heard it. Which isn't easy if your system doesn't have a 'b' sound."

"What happened to this 'Hawaiki' of yours?" Zafira cut in, eager to get back on topic. "If it was so wonderful, why would you ever leave?"

"There are…many stories," muttered Makani. "But most speak of a great cataclysm, which stole away thousands upon thousands of lives. Those few humans and _Nawao_ who remained, had no choice but to retreat to their canoes. They sailed away for lands unknown, together…while behind them, Hawaiki sunk beneath the ocean waves, and became part of the Underworld."

"The Old Bargain…" Benuthet realized aloud.

Makani didn't seem to recognize the term, but she nodded at the intent.

"A bargain it was, indeed," she said. "United, our peoples were the greatest wayfarers ever to grace this world. We could track the passage of the sun _and_ the stars, and those with strong enough wings could glide ahead and check for dangers on the horizon. Our ancestors worked together to settle dozens, _hundreds_ of islands. It's why we dress like them; why we take their language and their names. Because we used to be _one._ "

Her face twisted into something halfway between wistfulness and regret. "If only those days could've lasted," she added softly.

"What changed?" asked Brooklyn, though he had a bad feeling he already had a fair idea.

The crappy thing about being a time-traveler was all the bad patterns you started to notice.

"The humans became… _bolder,_ " Makani tried to explain. "They waged wars, big and small. With us constantly caught in the middle. We never regained our population after the Great Migration, the way the humans did. Many clans felt they had no choice but to ally with one _ali'i_ or another. But…well…"

She shook her head and sighed.

"A long time ago, we lived all across what the _hā_ _ʻ_ _ole_ call…umm… _Pākīpika,_ " she continued with an embarrassed grimace, knowing she'd gotten it wrong again. Still, from context, Brooklyn was fairly certain she meant the 'Pacific' Ocean, and he tried to smile reassuringly. "Tahiti, Samoa, Aotearoa, Rapa Nui…not to mention the other islands of Hawai'i. _Oh,_ the stories they tell to hatchlings, of the clans on O'ahu or Kaua'i…"

Her tone now seemed almost close to tears. Brooklyn felt an instinctual urge to glide closer, but he pushed it back down. He recognized that instinct quite well, and it was _not_ a helpful one right now.

Makani seemed not to have noticed, however, her attention turned entirely inward.

"But they've been wiped out for centuries," she said in a low, hollow voice. "For the longest time, I thought _we_ were all that was left. The last scattered remains of Clan Hawaiki…slowly dying away."

"How many of you are left?" asked Benuthet.

The tattooed gargoyle hesitated for a moment, before answering, "Forty-seven. Just…forty-seven. Plus a clutch of sixteen eggs. But…they won't hatch for another eight years."

All three of the time-travelers turned their heads toward the mass gliding behind them. They didn't have to do any math to know they were looking at well over half the entire clan.

"Honua will be angry with me, for putting so many in harm's way," murmured Makani – and if it was possible for a beak to tremble, hers _definitely_ was. "But I saw those men wandering to their doom, and I…I just _couldn't_ …"

"Your leader should understand," Benny tried to encourage. "You did the right thing."

Makani just turned her head away from them, her eyes masked from view by her long hair, and quietly said, "You don't know Honua."

Those were the last words she spoke before she, and the other Hawaiian gargoyles, entered into an abrupt dive. Hastily, "Pluk'līn, Penukek, and Kāpira" tilted their wings to follow.

Swiftly, they descended into a great valley, where there was no trace of human activity for miles around.

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley,** **Hawai'i Island,** **1790 A.D.**

"Of all the stupid, reckless, immature…!"

The five travelers stood back against the trunk of an enormous tree, watching uneasily as the leader of the Hawaiian Clan dressed down her Second like a hatchling.

"Honua," it transpired, was a bald gargoyle with skin of blazing orange. She looked to be one generation older than Makani or Awāwa – and indeed, based on body language, Benny voiced the theory that she was likely their rookery mother – with significantly nicer clothes than her fellows, more in keeping with Keōua than his warriors.

Her most distinguishing feature, however, was an enormous gash in her right wing, long since scarred over. There was no way she was capable of gliding upon it.

It was clear, however, that the injury hadn't dulled her ferocity one iota.

"How dare you? How _dare_ you?!" she exclaimed, grabbing Makani by the upper arm. Though her Second-in-Command _dwarfed_ her, by at least two full feet, the larger gargoyle looked cowed, shrinking away. "I send you out to gather food, and instead you lead the clan straight into the path of Kīlauea? What were you _thinking?!_ "

"I…I couldn't just leave them to die!" Makani meekly tried to protest, but the stutter in her voice dulled the impact.

"Of _course_ you could've. This is why you'll never lead this clan, Makani. You're too damn _soft,_ " said Honua, growling. "I haven't kept your brothers and sisters alive without making some hard choices. And when it's between _our_ lives, and _theirs?_ That's not even a choice at all."

Makani didn't have a response to that. She just continued to make herself smaller, in posture if not in actuality. She was hunched over, arms clutching at shoulders, and wings spread and curled in front of her, like a shield.

"Besides, if you _did_ insist on playing heroine, you could've at _least_ backed the winning side," the clan leader went on, her tone snide and contemptuous. "You know as well as I do Keōua's bid is doomed. Kamehameha has already crushed his armies thrice, and he doesn't have the resources to try a fourth time. That's _why_ I rejected his pathetic offer."

"You…didn't accept the offer from the _hā_ _ʻ_ _ole,_ either," Makani pointed out, in a _very_ small voice.

"Because unlike _some_ of us, I learn from the mistakes of those who came before me," Honua snapped, and her Second shrank back even further under her fierce glare. "And they've proven, time and time again, that allying with the strongest humans around is just _asking_ for them to smash you in the back."

Her grip tightened on the younger gargoyle's well-muscled arm, who didn't fight back at all. She just stared resolutely at the ground, face burning with shame.

"But allying with the _weakest_ ones? That's not just moronic, that's _suicidal_ ," she said with a snarl. "But what else can I expect from such a stupid, worthless, _wretched_ waste of…!"

"I think she understands your point."

Honua's eyes flashed red as they snapped over at their "guests." She'd been ignoring them, deliberately, since they'd arrived, focusing all her ire upon Makani. None of the other gargoyles seemed to find this odd, watching on with casual disinterest – as if this sort of thing happened all the time.

But Zafira hadn't been able to hold her tongue for long, and it wasn't hard for Brooklyn and Benny to see why. She'd experienced similar treatment, albeit not quite as severe, from her own leader Obsidiano, as he'd stubbornly refused to accept her harsh truths about the Spanish Conquistadores.

The fire-orange gargoyle stared contemptuously at the outsider who'd just challenged her authority. As if debating whether it was even worth acknowledging the insult.

Then Honua did something Obsidiano _never_ would have. She pulled back her arm, flexed her talons, and raked them sharply across Makani's face.

" _There,_ " she hissed. " _Now_ she understands."

The resulting scream of pain chilled Brooklyn to the bone. Instinctively, his hand reached for the sword at his hip, but Benuthet grasped his arm and slowly shook his head. The expression on his face, however, was _just_ as incensed.

Makani was still on the ground, one claw held to her cheek to stem the bleeding. The wound wasn't particularly deep – stone sleep would surely heal it in a single day – but in a way that disturbed Brooklyn even more.

Because he had _no_ idea just how many times this'd happened before.

"You are _not_ to go near the humans again. That's an order," said Honua, eyes narrowed fiercely. "Disobey, and you won't just be demoted as my Second. Disobey, and you're _banished._ "

The travelers looked at each other, shocked. There was no greater punishment for a gargoyle than to be banished from their clan. No greater _shame._

Honua seemed to think that was the end of it, and turned to leave. But then, from the ground, there came a mumbled, raspy, "W…We won't have a choice much longer."

Despite still being collapsed in a crumpled heap, face bloodied and eyes wet, Makani spoke with as much determination as she could muster.

The clan leader whirled around. " _What_ did you just say to me?" she demanded.

"Kamehameha won't rest until…until he controls every island within reach of a canoe," the green gargoyle managed to choke out. "Y…You think this valley is immune?"

Honua slowly stalked toward her Second, towering over her despite the vast difference in their sizes.

"And do you have a _better_ idea?" she said, a dangerous edge to her voice. "Unless you're proposing we _do_ ally with Keōua? True, he fears Kāne's wrath. But _that_ didn't save any of our brothers or sisters, did it? Ask the O'ahu Clan how much the favor of a 'god' really means. Or the Kaua'i Clan. Or the Maui Clan. I'm sure their _dust_ will have some interesting things to say."

Makani nodded her head softly, apparently accepting the elder gargoyle's point. But then, in an even smaller voice, she whispered, "Leave the island."

Her leader bared her teeth and released a low, threatening growl. "I better not have heard what I _thought_ I did," she responded, fist clenched.

"We used to be wayfarers. We…We could do it again," spoke Makani, her posture submissive and supplicating. She still hadn't picked herself back up to her feet. "We could fit the entire clan…the eggs…onto just a few boats. Find a new land. Start over with…"

Her words were abruptly cut off as Honua struck her again. Not with claws extended this time, but hard enough to force her back into the dirt.

"We will _not_ abandon our home a second time," said the orange gargoyle. "Especially not for some fool's errand, that may or may not _exist._ "

Though she was still shuddering from the pain, Makani slowly pointed a shaking talon at their five "guests," watching this scene and looking generally appalled – unsure whether stepping in now would only make things _worse._

"Th…These strangers prove…" she sputtered, visibly struggling to hold onto her train of thought. "That there's still hope. That one, he…he mentioned an island called… _Man'hakan_. S…So there're others out there. Where _Nawao_ still… _thrive_ …"

Brooklyn chose not to correct her mistaken assumptions, for the moment.

Honua, however, seemed to take this as an invitation to turn on the time travelers, her eyes briefly blazing red.

"So… _you_ put her up to this, did you?" she called out, staring in their general direction but making direct eye contact with none of them. "Filled her head with all this nonsense? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. She's always been incredibly slow."

"Yeah, I don't think you're in a position to get up on your high horse, lady," said Brooklyn, unable to control his mouth any longer.

Her furious expression momentarily gave way to a hint of confusion.

"What is a… _argh,_ never mind," shot back Honua, turning away from them with a sweeping flourish. "Dawn fast approaches, so you may eat your fill and roost here for the day. But after sundown, I want you _gone._ "

She strode back over to the prone Makani, who hadn't moved an inch, before adding in a biting tone, " _Hā_ _ʻ_ _ole_ is _hā_ _ʻ_ _ole._ Human or _Nawao_ makes no difference."

Then she grabbed Makani by the hair and forced her to look her in the eye.

"And as for _you_ …there should be about two hours until the sun rises," she said. "So do what you were told to in the _first_ place. But you'll be hunting _alone,_ this time. Since it seems I can't trust you with any more of the clan."

Honua left it at that, releasing her vice-like grip on Makani's flowing locks and allowing her to sink back into the grass.

Immediately, Brooklyn and the others moved to run to her, to see if she was okay. But the tattooed gargoyle merely turned to them, dried blood and tears matting her cheeks, and slowly shook her head.

Her expression was a sad, defeated smile. And its meaning was clear:

 _This is just the way it is._

Then, without another word, she took a running start and leapt toward a nearby cliff face, using her powerful limbs to scale it with incredible speed.

[-]

Brooklyn, Benuthet, Zafira, and the beasts spent the next hour or so amidst the Hawaiian gargoyles, unsure what to do next.

They could tell many of them were curious about these strangely clothed travelers, accompanied by creatures who were – at _best_ – remembered only through myth and legend. The lingering glances and muted whispers that followed them wherever they went made that _abundantly_ clear.

But not a single one even _spoke_ to them, beyond a few muttered rumbles as they shared the night's repast.

Presumably, they were following their leader's example in being as inhospitable as possible.

Said repast, at least, was _far_ from unwelcoming. It consisted of generous portions of freshly roasted pig, lightly salted and wrapped in large, thick leaves. The result was meat that seemed to have retained nearly _all_ its moisture throughout the cooking process, and there were no _words_ to describe how it felt in Brooklyn's eager mouth.

If – no, _when,_ he always needed to mentally correct himself to _when_ – he got back home, he needed to share this recipe with Broadway.

Like…pretty much _first thing._

Benuthet, however, seemed less enthused, picking at bits of the pork with his teeth and chewing slowly.

Noticing Brooklyn's questioning expression, he swallowed his latest tepid mouthful and said, "We rarely consumed pigs in Egypt – at least in comparison to fish, lamb, or beef. They were harder to cook thoroughly and ensure infection was avoided. While my mind recognizes these cooking techniques have addressed that concern…my stomach is still playing catch-up."

He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, before reaching for a wooden bowl before him and adding, " _This,_ on the other hand…"

The meal had been accompanied by a pale purple paste, which none of the travelers had been entirely sure what to do with. But the native gargoyles seemed content to simply scoop it up with their talons, and Brooklyn cautiously mimicked them. The flavor was rather hard to describe, beyond that it was sweet…but he was pretty damn sure he liked it.

And it was safe to say, based on Benny's now-empty bowl, that he _definitely_ did.

"It reminds me somewhat of Egyptian bread," the Egyptian gargoyle stated thoughtfully. "Emmer wheat mixed with beer produces a dough with much the same consistency. Albeit with an entirely different flavor, of course."

Rounding everything out was something Brooklyn mercifully _did_ recognize: a large bunch of bananas, though ones that were quite a bit fatter (and, to be honest, quite a bit _tastier_ ) than the variety he was used to.

Still, he wasn't _nearly_ as enthusiastic as Zee was in tearing into the familiar food. The Mayan gargoyle made up for their near-starvation in the mountains of Tibet by devouring at least a dozen of the soft fruits, before her mate had even finished his first helping of pork.

Despite his own gaping hunger, however, Brooklyn made sure to set aside a good-sized portion for Makani. He had no idea whether or not she'd manage to return before the sun rose – but either way, she was likely to be in need of a good meal when she did.

"It's not fair," he grumbled to the others, once all of their "hosts" were out of earshot. "All these able-bodied gargoyles – or _Nawao,_ or whatever – and she's stuck hunting _alone?_ Because she _saved_ a bunch of people?"

" _None_ of what just transpired was fair," said Zafira, hand clenching instinctively around the hilt of her obsidian blade. "One more minute and I swear I'd have…"

"I don't like it any more than you two do. _Trust_ me," Benny replied through tightly gritted teeth. "But we're also all strangers in this land, with almost no knowledge of its geography, history, _or_ human politics. We can't afford to alienate this clan…any more than we already have."

"Well, what if you had someone willing to tell you that stuff, _without_ getting all up in Honua's business?" asked a deep, booming voice.

Since they hadn't been spoken to by anyone else for over an hour, it took the trio a moment to realize those words had been directed at them.

"Awāwa?" muttered Brooklyn, as the broad-chested gargoyle touched down from the trees above. "Wait, where've _you_ been?"

He had, indeed, seemed to disappear entirely upon their landing, and Brooklyn hadn't spotted him at all since.

"Oh, here and there," Awāwa said evasively, dismissing the subject with a casual wave. "Anyway, if what you need is a guide, storyteller, and all that good stuff, _I'm_ your guy. I know every inch of this island. Well…all of them, really. Ooh, you gonna finish that?"

He said all this very quickly, and reached for Zee's barely touched bowl of the purple paste without waiting for an answer.

"Mmm- _mmmmm._ Nothing like some nice thick _poi,_ " the gargoyle mumbled through a full mouth. "Kinda prefer it when it starts to go sour, though. I'm less of a sweets guy than a meats…guy? Eh, that sounded better in my head."

He swallowed the last of Zafira's _poi_ with a single, exaggerated gulp, pounding on his chest with his meaty fist to help force it down.

"Anyway, before I jump into the history lesson…bet you wanna know what's going on with Honua and Makani," he added, lowering his voice significantly.

"You saw what just happened?" asked Brooklyn.

Awāwa shook his head. "Didn't have to," he said, his voice becoming rather muted. "Seen it _way_ too many times before."

"How long has it _been_ …this way?" Zafira demanded indignantly.

"Honua's always had a… _difficult_ personality. And it's only gotten worse as more and more clans fell to the humans' civil wars," answered the tattooed gargoyle. "She feels like, since she's in charge of protecting the last of us, she has to be _just_ as harsh as they are. I'm not justifying it, but it's how she thinks."

He sighed at length, staring off at the horizon. Sunrise couldn't be much farther away.

"The worse things got for the clan, the more Honua took it out on her children. But Makani _always_ got it the worst," Awāwa told the travelers. "In the clans of Polynesia, the Second's selected from a clutch at _birth,_ based on physical markings. Makani got the 'lucky' pick of the draw…and she's been suffering for it ever since."

A dark look appeared over Benny's face. "She's beaten her like that since she was a _hatchling?_ " he said.

"Off and on. More and more as she grew up," responded Awāwa. "I suppose Honua thinks, since she'll lead the clan someday…she _needs_ to toughen her up. But it's had the exact opposite effect."

His claws curled briefly into fists.

"Makani's an amazing girl…when she has the _chance_ to be," he continued, sighing again. "But she's so scared of Honua, so nervous about disappointing her, that it's left her confidence a total wreck. Honua's told her all her life that she's a stupid, worthless failure…and now she _believes_ it."

"That's idiotic," Zafira pointed out, snarling in disgust. "She's all but _guaranteed_ the death of her clan after she passes."

"Trust me, I've been telling Honua that since _she_ was a hatchling," said Awāwa. "But that'd require her to actually _listen_ to others. She's absolutely convinced she's the only one who knows what's best for our clan."

"Hold on," Brooklyn interrupted him, brow furrowed. "I thought you and Makani were in the same generation. I'm not always great at guessing ages, but you look _way_ younger than Honua."

A nervous look briefly appeared upon Awāwa's face, as if he'd let slip something he hadn't intended to. Seconds later, however, his face slipped back into its usual, confident bravado.

"I'm…uh… _older_ than I look," he declared, reflexively flexing his powerful muscles. "But hey, thanks for pointing it out! You don't get a body like this without putting in the work."

"Err…right. Sorry, it's just that…" murmured Brooklyn, trying to gather his thoughts. "I mean, the way you were talking about her…I thought, for a second…maybe you two were mates."

There was a brief moment of silence between the four of them. Then Awāwa tilted his head back and began to _laugh,_ loudly and uproariously.

This lasted for nearly thirty seconds, as each time the mirth seemed to die down, the gargoyle took another look at Brooklyn's bewildered face and renewed it, stronger than before. Eventually, however, he managed to settle himself down, wiping a small tear from his eye with a long, fat talon.

"There're…at least _ten_ things wrong with that picture…" he said, in between a few brief, lingering guffaws. "I mean, don't get me wrong: I _do_ love Makani. But it's platonic. I've watched that girl grow up since she was an egg, and I _know_ she's something special. Even if _she_ can't always see it."

There was a lengthy pause after these words were spoken, before Benuthet frowned and told the brown-skinned gargoyle, "I couldn't help but notice she seemed significantly more at ease in the air."

"Heh. You got a good eye, buddy," Awāwa replied. "Yeah, Honua hasn't been able to glide for nearly forty years. The skies are the one place Makani can always get away to. Where she can be herself. Shouldn't be surprised, given her name – _the wind._ "

An almost wistful twinkle appeared in his eye as he looked back over the horizon. The shade of the sky had lightened, just slightly.

"Alright, switching topics. We don't got a lotta time before the sun comes up…but I'll fill you in on what I can," he said. "A lot's been changing about these islands recently, and while I don't know _where_ you five came from…I have a good feeling you being here _isn't_ a coincidence."

"Knowing my luck, it probably isn't," commented Brooklyn, mostly to himself. His next words, he spoke a little louder. "But won't Honua get angry with you for telling us all this?"

He directed a lingering glance to the various other Hawaiian gargoyles who were loitering about the area, all of whom hastily cast their faces down and pretended as if they hadn't been eavesdropping.

Awāwa released a hearty chuckle. "Well, maybe if I actually _cared_ about her opinion," was his answer to the Scottish gargoyle. "What's the worst she could do…banish me? Listen, I was a rogue a _long_ time before I joined this clan. If I have to go back to that life, I've got no regrets."

Then, he leaned in, as if he didn't want his next statement to be overheard.

"Besides, I don't know who else to turn to. If we don't act now…there's a good chance _Nawao_ go extinct in Hawai'i," he went on, his voice very low. "Makani gets it, but nobody else does. Or at least…nobody else is _willing_ to stand up to Honua. I tell you guys the full story, and _maybe_ I'll have a little extra backup."

"We'll certainly hear you out, if nothing else," said Zafira, her own expression stern and determined. "I'd like to show that poor girl _someone_ is on her side."

"Thank you for trusting us with this," added her mate with a nod. He offered his arm, and Awāwa readily clasped it once more. "We'll endeavor to help however we can."

"Well, what can I say?" Awāwa responded, draping his wings across his shoulders and leaning back against a tree. "Except…"

His tan beak slowly spread into a wide, satisfied smirk.

"You're welcome."

[-]

 **Pelekane,** **Hawai'i Island,** **1790 A.D.**

He was dressed, naturally, in the raiment of power and glory.

Of course, by the standards of the _hā_ _ʻ_ _ole,_ he would've been considered positively naked. His legs and half his chest remained completely bare, while his sandals – carved from the roots of the _L_ _ā'ī_ plant – were simple and practical.

Those garments he _did_ wear, however, spoke of his rank greater than words ever could. Like Keōua, his clothing was composed entirely of feathers and plant fibers, but that was where the similarities ended.

Between his loincloth, sash, helm, and flowing cape, he wore something close to half a _million_ feathers, all strung together with craftsmanship nigh-unparalleled. Because it was strictly forbidden to kill the birds who produced them, only a few feathers could be gathered at a time, making a piece like his cloak – which reached nearly to the ground, a far cry from Keōua's shoulder-length cape – a labor of _generations._

Color, too, was a vital part of the symbolism. Keōua's feathered cape and headdress had been entirely black; a color of power, surely, but also an incredibly common one. For an _ali'i_ of his stature to lack anything greater was a mark of how far he'd managed to fall.

There was no greater contrast than the pure-yellow cape that swept across his body. All Hawaiians knew the image of the _ʻ_ _ō_ _ʻ_ _ō_ – the jet-black bird with tiny tufts of yellow beneath its wings. To gather so many of the brilliant plumes demonstrated, at a single glance, that he stood second to none.

Or at least…that he would _very_ soon.

Another cape was in his possession, carried behind him by a high-ranking _kahuna,_ but he didn't dare to wear it. Like a good portion of his sash and helm, it was a brilliant red, the color of royalty – but they did not come from the same source.

Instead of common birds like the _'i'iwi_ or _'apapane,_ for which _thousands_ would need to be caught, the maker of this second cloak had taken a shortcut. Indeed, only one "donor" had been required.

Keōua, had he been present, would've demanded the cape by rights. It'd belonged, after all, to his half-brother Kīwalaʻō, and claimed as the spoils of war eight years ago. But no one else would ever wear the crimson cloak, if _he_ had anything to say about it.

It was the least he could do to honor the noble _Nawao_ who'd been slaughtered to create it.

Incidentally, the cape was not the only prize from recent skirmishes traveling amidst his retinue. To his right stood his highest-ranking wife, Queen Keōpuolani – the greatest of the female _ali'i_ he'd claimed for his court after conquering Maui, just a few short months ago. Though only eleven, she was Kīwalaʻō's daughter, born to his own half-sister.

This made her bloodline sacred beyond description.

To his left, meanwhile, stood his _favorite_ wife: Queen Ka'ahumanu, daughter of Keʻeaumoku Pāpaʻiahiahi, his greatest ally in war. Like Keōpuolani, she'd been wed to him very young, at a mere thirteen years of age. The nine years since, however, had eliminated any trace of the little girl who'd been sworn to him by her warmongering father.

At present, he had nearly thirty wives. But _none_ were the equal of Ka'ahumanu.

Traveling immediately behind the two royals were two dozen other high-ranking _ali'i_ and _kahuna,_ along with about fifty of his strongest warriors. Even here, at the seat of his power, it didn't do to take chances.

Not so long as Keōua still lived.

Of course, their party was unable to move _quickly,_ since the majority of his warriors were of common blood. That meant, due to the _kapu_ system, that none of them could meet their superiors in the eye. Or raise their heads above theirs.

Or even cross their shadows.

And since the penalty for breaking _kapu_ was immediate and painful death, there was really no other way for them to proceed but "carefully."

A casual observer might've found it strange that, amidst a number of mighty warriors whose eyes stared resolutely at the ground, walked a man of pale skin and foreign garb, his head held completely level. But Isaac Davis – or 'Aikake, as they called him here – was no mere _hā_ _ʻ_ _ole_.

For Keōua hadn't been entirely wrong, when he'd decried his disregard for "the old ways." It wasn't that the man who dreamt of uniting the islands rejected them _entirely,_ of course. He followed _kapu_ religiously. He swore by and made offerings to the gods.

Indeed, to his own guardian _akua –_ Kū, the lord and master of war – he doubted there was a man in history who'd constructed more statues and monuments than he. He was the war god's chosen, and the incredible success of his campaign of conquest was proof.

But at the same time, when it came down to it, he placed far more value in a person's use to him than the station of their birth…within reason, of course. He would never allow one of the _kauwā_ to stand so near to him, for example. Such a thing would be patently absurd.

Still, he reasoned, there was no _kapu_ designating the caste of _hā_ _ʻ_ _ole._ Nothing to stop him from granting two white men the status of _ali'i_ in their own right – and all that came with it.

Their contributions, in martial strategy and weapons expertise, were simply too invaluable to do otherwise. He'd made more progress in the short months since they'd been stranded here, than in the last eight years _combined._ Their "cannons" and "muskets" changed the face of warfare forevermore, and only a fool would deny it.

Which was why, despite the earliness of the hour, the man who controlled virtually the _entire_ island of Hawai'i had awoken to answer the summons of a pale-faced boatswain. For if his chief military advisor thought the matter worth his attention…

It almost certainly _was._

The advisor in question, John Young, arrived to meet him at the edge of Pelekane: the royal compound that served as the heart of his empire, named for the Hawaiian pronunciation of Young's homeland, "Britain." Built after his conquest of Maui, it'd now overtaken nearly the entire village of Kawaihae – once the seat of power for a number of his rivals for the island.

Davis, the American, had a small residence within the compound, from which he'd just been roused. Young, to maximize his utility, held his own land just on the village's outskirts, so that he might have early warning of any attacks.

Knowing his rank, as designated by the king himself, the guards dutifully prostrated themselves as the Englishman passed – only for him to do the same, once he'd drawn close enough to his liege. Davis broke rank from the retinue and dropped to his knees as well, to the side of his fellow sailor.

"Rise, 'Aikake. Rise, 'Olohana," said the king, his voice strong and commanding. The formalities had to be observed, but he wasn't interested in prolonging them. Not if this was an urgent matter. "Tell me what news you have."

As they did as their king bid, Davis glanced toward the other Caucasian, awaiting his lead. He, after all, had been awoken by Young's messenger, just like the rest. He had no special insight into what in the world had the normally taciturn Englishman so anxious.

Young, meanwhile – whose Hawaiian name came from a corruption of his frequent exclamation, "All hands!" – bowed his head and spoke in calm, steady tones, "You can see, Your Majesty, that Kīlauea erupts with incredible violence this night."

Heavy, dark brown lips folded into a frown. "Hardly an uncommon occurrence," the king remarked, his eyes drifting to the smoke still visible amongst the stars, even this far away. "Pele has many reasons to be wrathful, as of late. I trust you did not wake your king simply for _that._ "

"Recall the movements of Keōua's troops following the Battle of Koapapaʻa," said Young, his pronunciation of each name and place flawless. He didn't take overdue pride in it, but he was a _very_ quick study. "After fleeing the forests at Pa'auhau, there's only path he could've taken to retreat."

"The Ka'ū Desert," was his taciturn reply, still frowning. "But I fail to see what…"

Suddenly, the king ceased to speak. The ceremonial spear held in his right hand, tipped with the same sun-yellow _ʻ_ _ō_ _ʻ_ _ō_ feathers that made up his cloak, very nearly tumbled from his grip.

"Is this a suspicion you hold, 'Olohana?" he demanded of the boatswain. "Or have you confirmed it?"

"I've sent runners to gain a better vantage point. But the eruption is still ongoing, so drawing nearer remains… _problematic,_ " Young answered carefully. "Still, as your advisor…I don't think you can risk forgoing such a golden opportunity."

The king's face became an impassive mask, his mind sinking into a whirlpool of heavy thoughts. Though he was a mighty warrior in his own right, all who knew him would agree it was his keen brain that'd allowed him to succeed where so many others had failed.

Finally, he made his decision.

"If Keōua himself survived the explosion…then he is uniquely vulnerable. I slay him, and the last of this great island falls under my rule," he said, loud enough that all gathered – chief and priest and commoner alike – could hear his booming tones. "We will wait until we are _certain_ he is weakened, before striking. But, in the meantime…"

He turned to face the gathered _ali'i_ and _kahuna,_ who hastily lowered their heads, lest they risk standing above their king and earning the ire of the gods.

"Kame'eiamoku, Kamanawa, Keaweaheulu Kaluaʻapana," he addressed three of the highest-ranking chiefs – three of the original five who'd sided with him since the days of the Prophecy. "Gather my armies, and ensure they are prepared. We will march the _moment_ 'Olohana's spies return."

Then, he turned back to the two white men, his imperious gaze alighting first upon the American.

"You, 'Aikake, should mobilize all the cannons we have remaining. We must leave nothing to chance in our next skirmish with Keōua," he added, his grip tightening upon his spear. "My cousin has escaped through my fingers three times over. I _refuse_ to allow a fourth."

"With due respect, Your Majesty…" said Young, choosing his words carefully. "Do you have a task for me as well? Normally, you'd have us _both_ in charge of the cannons."

"As I said, 'Olohana. I will leave _nothing_ to chance," the king responded – his tone brooking _no_ room for disagreement. "I have another duty for you. One _just_ as important as your people's gift of 'gunpowder' has been."

"You have but to name it, Your Majesty," Young told his liege, sinking briefly to his knees once more to emphasize the point.

There was a brief moment of silence, as the king mulled over how best to word this command.

Eventually, however, he declared, "I know that you and 'Aikake have made overtures to the _Nawao_ …and been rebuffed each time. You will do it again, under my _full_ auspices."

"Please forgive my impudence," said Young, his sallow face sinking slightly at the order. "But we've already been twice refused by their leader. What, this time, would be different?"

"This time…" the king paused for breath, before delivering his proclamation. "The offer is _not_ optional. And you will have help, in imparting this simple truth. Ka'ahumanu."

The queen who stood at his left hand stepped forward. She was an extremely large woman, bountiful in girth and bosom, with rings circling her neck and crown that were composed of yellow and scarlet feathers, matching those of her husband.

"Yes, my king," she uttered calmly, looking him directly in the eye. Of all those gathered, she was one of only two permitted to do so – and the other was half her husband's height and a fifth his age.

"You are known for your persuasive tongue. Accompany 'Olohana in parlaying with the _Nawao_ clan leader. Perhaps you can succeed where they have failed," he said, meeting his favored wife's gaze. "Let it be known that no harm will come to them if they join my court. They will be considered favored subjects, each and every one given the rank of _kakauali'i._ And their leader…will hold the rank of _ali'i nui._ For now and for all time."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the retinue. _Ali'i nui_ was the highest possible caste to which one could belong – and more to the point, was _equal_ to that of their king.

Should his declaration come to pass, the _Nawao_ leader would outrank _all_ of them. She would, by rights, be considered to have blood that was _literally_ divine.

"I will bring these words to her, exactly as you have proclaimed," stated Ka'ahumanu, moving to stand beside Young – who immediately stooped over, so that his head was lower than that of the rather shorter queen. "But I cannot guarantee they'll be well met. _Nawao_ do not see the _kapu_ system the same way we do."

"Neither of our peoples have the luxury of _choice,_ " the king said harshly. "Hear these words, and know I will no longer be denied."

He raised his spear high, and the volume of his voice escalated accordingly, until it seemed as if the distant rumblings of the volcano were a whisper in comparison.

"I am Kalani Paiʻea Wohi o Kaleikini Kealiʻikui Kamehameha o ʻIolani i Kaiwikapu kauʻi Ka Liholiho Kūnuiākea!" he exclaimed, for all in the village to hear. "Son of Keōua Kalanikupuapaʻīkalaninui Ahilapalapa and Kekuʻiapoiwa the Second! Mover of the Naha Stone, guardian of Kūkaʻilimoku! I am the rightful and true _ali'i nui_ of all Hawai'i! And soon…I shall prove I am the only man worthy to be king of _all_ her people!"

Then, with a show of incredible force, he drove the blunt edge of his spear straight into the fertile earth.

"The _Nawao_ are a sacred race. They arose from the depths of _Pō_ long before even the oldest of chiefs," Kamehameha continued to speak, his words directed to all and none of them at once. "They deserve the honor to be a part of my vision. But…if they should refuse that honor…"

His gaze drifted, momentarily, to the crimson cape of Kīwalaʻō, which was still held aloft by one of his most trusted _kahuna._ Its blood-red feathers fluttering in the wind.

"Then I shall bestow unto them, the only _other_ honor of which their noble blood is worthy," he finished, his voice growing low and soft.

"The honor of sacrifice."


	2. Episode II: Menehune

_**Gargoyles: TimeDancer – Hawaiki – Episode II: Menehune**_

 _Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Gargoyles. All Gargoyles-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Disney, Greg Weisman, and Frank Paur._

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

Brooklyn awoke to one of the most breathtaking sights he'd ever witnessed in his life.

And for a veteran time-traveler, _that_ was saying something.

When they'd first dove into the valley the Hawaiian Clan made their home, he'd been too preoccupied with getting his bearings on this time period to really take in the scenery. Now, however, he and the rest of his party – as well as Awāwa, who'd chosen to roost with them rather than his clan – were roaring out of stone atop a large outcropping, the entire valley spread out in front of them below.

The cliffs, like the one they were now perched upon, were enormous, with the tallest totaling at _least_ three-thousand feet. They were also incredibly rough and steep, unsuitable for climbing by anybody lacking claws. Combined with its remoteness, it wasn't hard to see why only gargoyles had managed to colonize this valley.

Not that he could exactly _see_ much of the cliffs themselves. Like a thick coating of fur, trees and other leafy plants stretched from the ground all the way up to the towering peaks, so that the entire valley was one great sea of vibrant green.

At the very far end of the valley, Brooklyn found he could even see a bit of the ocean, with the lush plant life eventually giving way to a darkly hued beach – and the crashing waves of the sea beyond.

The most eye-catching sight, however, was the series of waterfalls that cascaded down the nearby cliffs. Rather than a single wide one, the uneven stone forced the waters to part into several narrow streams, forming a pattern like cracks in lattice.

Looking at them from above, they almost seemed like tearstains, running down the cliff's face in steady, unending rhythm.

"I guess that's the one thing I never get tired of," said Brooklyn, a dim smile playing upon his beak. "The scenery."

"Indeed, my friend," spoke a deeper voice to his side. "But the company certainly doesn't hurt, either."

Benuthet slowly unfurled himself from a crouching position and to full height, eyes upon the horizon as he shook off the last few flecks of stone. Zafira joined him a moment later, and her claws were instantly in his mane, their motions precise and sensual.

"I've never seen you sleep that way, my love," she murmured, as he softly stroked at her own hair. "I was about to ask before dawn, but the sun came too quickly."

"In Egypt, this was…for lack of a better term…the 'traditional' position to take during stone sleep," replied Benny, briefly assuming the stance again to demonstrate. He was laying on his stomach, kneeling, with his arms placed on the ground straight in front of him. It reminded Brooklyn of pictures he'd seen of the Sphinx at Giza. "But from a practical standpoint, it's a poor choice unless you're certain no threats will strike during the day."

"Which, needless to say…doesn't come up for _us_ very often," said Brooklyn with a sigh.

The leonine gargoyle gave a small, momentary grin. "Be that as it may, I cannot say I disagree with your original point," he told his friend. "Even in my _ba_ dreams, I never could've imagined a place such as this. I'd go so far as to say it brings to mind descriptions of Avalon herself."

"Avalon?" asked Zee, cocking an eyebrow ridge.

It took Benny and Brooklyn a moment to realize, with a silent glance toward each other, that the term hadn't come up in any of the Dances they'd shared so far.

As such, her mate dutifully explained, "The island home of the Third Race. Center of all Earth's magicks. And seat of power for their ruler, Qu…err, Lord Oberon."

He turned briefly back to Brooklyn again, before adding, "Apologies, my friend. I'm not sure I'm _ever_ going to get used to that."

"Well, kinda luck we have, we'll probably show up _right_ on the night those two were duking it out. Once of these Dances," said the Scottish gargoyle, shrugging his shoulders. These words weren't spoken with fear or trepidation, but rather sheer, matter-of-fact resignation. "The Big Birdie isn't gonna pass up _any_ opportunity to yank my chain."

"That's one way of looking at things, I suppose," responded Zafira. "The other is that we always seem to arrive when we're most needed. And I'm quite doubtful that's a coincidence."

She raised both claws and began ticking off on her fingers, "In just a few short weeks, we've saved my home from a power-mad avatar, protected the humans of that 'German' village from…well, from a power-mad avatar, prevented my love's past self from becoming a…"

Zee frowned slightly. "You know, I never really thought about how much that seems to happen around us," she muttered, deep in thought.

"Not to mention stopping an inter-clan war in India, retrieving the Tablets of Destiny, and keeping the yeti from going extinct," Brooklyn said pointedly. "We can never just go back and see, I dunno…Napoleon doing the dishes. Or that dreaded night Abraham Lincoln filed his taxes and – _gasp_ – forgot to carry the one."

Neither Benuthet nor Zafira had any clue who those people were, but they nodded all the same.

"Be that as it may…" the red-skinned female spoke up after a moment, arms crossed over her chest. "We should determine the purpose of our stay on this island – sooner rather than later. Although I'm fairly certain I already know what it is."

"You're talking about Makani," stated Brooklyn. It wasn't a question.

"I'll not stand by and allow that to go on a single night longer," hissed the Mayan gargoyle, eyes flashing a very brief crimson. "Not for her sake, and not for this clan's. We've already been 'asked' to leave tonight…what's the worst they could do if we intervened?"

"I'm worried less about the worst they could do to _us_ …compared to the worst they could do to _her,_ " said Benuthet, his expression conflicted. "From what we saw of her clan, her surviving rookery parents are few and far between – and _none_ seem eager to cross Honua. Besides, this appears to be the only clan on the entire island. Without a support system or a place to go…"

"There _is_ a place she could go," Zee declared, a streak of defiance in her voice.

It took Benny only half a second to realize what she was alluding to, and Brooklyn just slightly longer.

"I'm not saying I'm against the idea," answered the scholar after a beat. "But I'm not sure how much it would solve. According to Awāwa, her abuse of Makani stems predominately from her role as Second. What's to stop Honua from selecting a new Second and repeating the pattern as soon as she leaves with us?"

Neither of the others had a good response to that.

Eventually, with one hand cupping the bottom half of his beak thoughtfully, Brooklyn turned to his companions and said, "You're both right. We _can't_ just step back and do nothing…but we can't do anything that'd tear this clan apart, either. Especially after everything else Awāwa told us last n…"

But he was interrupted from completing his thought as the gargoyle in question suddenly seized him from behind, pulling Brooklyn into a one-armed hug that nearly broke his ribs.

"Admiring the sights, my friends?" asked Awāwa, as he stretched his massive wings and muscles. "Can't say I blame you! Waimanu Valley…name means 'river of birds.' The hidden gem of the north shore. Humans can't reach it without boats, so we've been the sole inhabitants for well over a thousand years."

A moment later, a series of happy barks sounded through the night air, as Fu-Dog and Kebechet bounded forward excitedly, rubbing up against their masters and making keening sounds. This only lasted for a few seconds, however, before they turned back to Awāwa, and began excitedly licking his hands and legs.

The tan-colored gargoyle laughed heartily, allowing the beasts to bowl him over so he could playfully wrestle with him on the ground.

"I was wondering where you'd all gone," said Brooklyn. "Last I checked, you were turning to stone right behind us."

Awāwa waved a dismissive claw, not pausing in his rough play as he replied, "You guys looked like you were busy, so I took 'em out for a good run. Nothing gets the blood pumping better in the evening!"

Inwardly, Brooklyn sort of doubted a nine-foot-tall gargoyle and two beasts could've _possibly_ slipped away without them noticing, but for now he chose to keep that thought to himself.

Benny, meanwhile, turned to observe the sight. "Our _sha_ are very fond of you," he remarked, his expression inscrutable. "And it seems the feeling is mutual."

Awāwa's eyes were shining as they stared at the beasts…as if he was looking at an old friend.

"Hey, no need to get jealous," he said with an exaggerated wink. "I've got a way with pretty much _all_ creatures – big, fat, small, ugly. Just one of the top fifty things that make me so awesome."

"I simply find it a bit curious," Benuthet continued, one hand unconsciously clutching at his satchel. "Makani indicated your _sha_ have been extinct for as long as you've recorded history. Yet if I didn't know better, I'd say you seem almost… _familiar_ with them."

There was a brief, quiet pause. Then, Awāwa's wide-billed beak slowly spread into a grin.

"Can't get anything past _you,_ can I?" was all he chose to answer. Then, without any further ado, his wings flared to life. "C'mon. We'd better make sure we don't miss anything down there."

"I thought we were supposed to leave after sundown," Zafira pointed out, in a tone that said she was only _too_ happy to ignore the demand.

Awāwa just looked out before them, toward the ocean.

"Honua's got bigger problems to worry about by now," he said, his tone cryptic. " _Trust_ me."

And with that, he entered into a fierce dive, with the time-travelers struggling belatedly to follow.

[-]

The valley they returned to had a very different air from the one they'd left the previous night.

For one thing, it was quite a bit noisier. The atmosphere during their meal had been understandably tense, but ultimately quiet – almost _unnervingly_ so.

Now the forest was a hustle and bustle of activity, with gargoyles diving every which way, grasping for weapons and confirming each other's safety. A handful, meanwhile, spent that time moving from tree to tree and peering up into their branches. Brooklyn wasn't sure what all _that_ was about, but in any event he hardly had the time to find out.

Instead, he and the rest of his party chased after Awāwa, who was moving with almost supernatural quickness through the chaos. Beyond a few lingering glances, none of the rest of the clan paid them much attention; there simply wasn't _time_ now.

But _why?_

Brooklyn had his answer before he could speak the question aloud. And he had to place a claw over his mouth to stifle a sudden laugh.

Honua and five other warriors, each wielding a large, serrated blade, were currently being besieged by what looked for all the world like miniature humans. The diminutive creatures were less than half a foot high, with clothes of leaves and twigs, and were all screeching and chattering unintelligibly.

In short, they didn't exactly look like the type of threat that'd plunge an entire clan into pandemonium.

On the other hand, each of them was also wielding an extremely small and extremely _sharp_ spear. As well as expressions that reflected nothing within the realm of sanity.

Oh…and there were also _thousands_ of them.

" _Menehune_ …" muttered Awāwa, his tone making it clear it _wasn't_ a word he was fond of saying.

Unfortunately, even that quiet aside was apparently enough for several hundred tiny heads to turn in their direction at once.

There was a brief pause, as the _menehune_ who _weren't_ trying to dogpile every gargoyle they could find stared at them, unblinkingly. Where their eyes should've been white, there was something with the color and texture of coarse wood.

Then, as one, they erupted in a great, completely incoherent scream, and launched themselves toward these six new targets as well.

It took about three seconds for Brooklyn to regret his earlier impulse to chuckle. The _menehune_ made up for what they lacked in size and strength with sheer viciousness, jabbing at his arms, chest, and legs with points that felt like pinpricks – but when multiplied several _dozen_ times over, were utterly excruciating.

With their tiny, tiny limbs, they grasped onto his burnt-red skin as tightly as they could, as Brooklyn tried and failed to shake them all off. Emboldened, several began to shimmy up his legs, seeking a slightly… _higher_ target.

" _Oooooooh_ no you don't," he said, gritting his teeth. "I have a hard enough time getting a girl as it is!"

With one great, booming snap, his tail whipped around him and knocked the creatures away. To his surprise, the _menehune_ shattered apart the moment they hit the ground, leaving nothing behind but a few scraps of wood and plant fiber.

Following his lead, Benny and Zee both did the same – though the latter combined it with a few precise slashes from her obsidian blade, which worked even better. Meanwhile, eager to protect their bonded partners, Fu-Dog and Kebechet pounced on the _menehune_ like they were Bronx and their targets were pigeons.

Since their clan lacked tails, Honua and her warriors were unable to copy their strategy exactly, but with those strange white weapons they were slowly managing to push back the tide. The clan leader, in particular, moved with the ferocity of a gargoyle possessed, hacking and slashing and crushing in every direction her aged limbs could reach.

Perhaps it was his already dirt-low opinion of her talking, but Brooklyn couldn't help but be reminded of the last female he'd seen fight like that…at the Battle of Rathveramoen.

Still, though the two groups were now dispatching _menehune_ by the dozens, it was a drop in the bucket compared to the horde still flooding over the valley. Brooklyn finagled his way closer to Benuthet – no small feat, considering there were at least a hundred of the chattering creatures between them – and opened the side of his jaw.

"Y'know, Benny…now would be a _really_ good time to make with the magic stuff," he spoke in a carrying whisper. "I mean. If it's not too much trouble."

"As I told you in India, my friend, my new wand is far less… _urgh,_ " said the scholar, having to pause in order to swipe away several _menehune_ drawing dangerously near his satchel. "Far less _versatile_ than my old. The immensity of the creature it's carved from – that 'wooly mammoth' beast – certainly lends it a great deal of raw _power._ But this may not be the… _ack_ …right situation for a particularly _powerful_ spell."

"Yeah, I guess the best time to pump your enemies full of fire or lightning _isn't_ when they're climbing all over you," Brooklyn admitted, punctuating his words with another sweep of his tail.

Suddenly, Benuthet's eyes snapped wide open. "Or perhaps it _is,_ " he muttered to himself, pulling out his ivory wand and concentrating on gathering the necessary energies. "Not one of those, of course…but I think an elemental force is _exactly_ what we need right now. You'd all better hold onto something!"

Brooklyn wasn't sure what the Egyptian gargoyle was about to do, but he grabbed onto both Fu-Dog and the nearest tree nonetheless. Zafira did the same, grasping toward Kebechet, but the Hawaiian gargoyles paid his instruction no heed, following the example of their leader – who was still stubbornly striking at every last _menehune_ she could reach, like some twisted game of whack-a-mole.

Benny repeated his exclamation a couple of times, but the local clan continued to pay no heed. The only exception was Awāwa, who'd extricated himself from the full hundred or so _menehune_ attempting to ascend his massive body and was now gripping onto two fat branches.

Finally, as it became harder and harder to swat the creatures away from his now-glowing wand – which seemed to draw them in like a beacon – the scholar saw no other choice. He glanced toward Brooklyn, who nodded once.

Then, he planted the tip of the wand into the soft earth and shouted in Latin, " _Terraemotus!_ "

The result was nearly instantaneous. Violently, the ground around them began to rumble and shake, at first steadily but with greater and greater intensity as the seconds ticked by. The gargoyles still fighting were sent sprawling into a heap, and even those who'd preemptively rooted themselves were forced to hang on for dear life, lest they lose balance as well.

But the earthquake's effects were felt much more potently by the far-smaller _menehune._ Their tiny bodies, already incredibly brittle, were weakened still further by the powerful vibrations. Their screeching chitters reached a fever-pitch as they helplessly tumbled to the ground…

Until finally, one after the other, they began to quite _literally_ fall apart, leaving little but the scantest remains behind.

In just a few minutes, the valley went from a population of several thousand _menehune_ to a whopping zero.

Not that Honua seemed to have noticed, however. The moment Benuthet removed his wand from the soil, ending the spell, she rushed toward the handful of scraps and twigs that'd been attacking her just moments ago and smashed it still further, driving her weapon down over and over as a series of guttural snarls escaped her throat.

Suddenly, a large hand appeared upon her shoulder.

"Mother…Mother, it's over…" said a soft voice.

The time travelers all turned their heads in surprise. They hadn't seen or heard Makani return, but there she was, attempting to soothe her rookery mother with one hand and balancing a staggering amount of meat against her body with the other.

All of them saw it coming a second before it did – including, it seemed, Makani herself, who turned her head and braced herself just in time. But that didn't make it hurt any less when Honua whirled around and slashed Makani's cheek with her blade, eyes blazing.

The weapon only grazed the green gargoyle, but it struck with such speed that Makani was sent flying, the gathered food tumbling out of her grip and falling into the dirt.

"So very like you to stay away while your clan fights for its _life,_ " snapped Honua, sneering in disgust. "I've raised twenty-three children. I've _buried_ more than half of them. But not _one_ would've cowered in the shadows while her brothers and sisters were in danger. None…except _you._ "

"Y…You've got it all wrong!" Makani meekly tried to protest, though her posture was already slumped in defeat. "I…I just got here! And…there were so _many_ …"

" _Liar!_ " roared the clan leader, advancing upon her child with teeth bared. She was still holding her weapon, something halfway between an axe and a club, at her side. "I'm not interested in hearing _excuses!_ If you can't learn to be a warrior on your own…"

She slammed the blunt side of her blade into her palm. "Then I'll just have to keep _teaching_ it to you," she said, her voice _dripping_ with venom.

Then, she raised the weapon high over her head.

It wasn't clear which of them took off first, but within half a second Brooklyn, Benuthet, and Zafira were all rushing forward as one. If the clan leader hadn't crossed the line before now, then she was _definitely_ about to.

But the hand that seized around the blade wasn't any of theirs.

"That's _enough,_ " Awāwa declared, his voice low and rumbling.

Eyes flashing and tongue hissing fiercely, Honua struggled to wrench her weapon out of the muscular gargoyle's grip – but while she was certainly strong, he was _far_ outside her weight class. Awāwa tightened his fist, causing his blood to stain the white material.

"You should be focused less on Makani, and more on _why_ an army of _menehune_ just tried to kill us," he said, his normally bright and wide eyes narrowed at his leader. "Tell me I'm wrong there."

Honua's teeth remained gritted as she silently seethed…but slowly, gradually, the aggressiveness in her expression receded back, until it was replaced by battle-weary frustration. Both gargoyles allowed her weapon to fall to the ground with a soft thud.

"Just get her out of my sight. I can't deal with her right now," she murmured, suddenly sounding very tired. Her eyes drifted over to Brooklyn. "You, strangers – you disobeyed my _direct_ order. But…you _also_ saved my clan. My children. So you may stay another night, if you need to."

Brooklyn glanced over at Makani, still collapsed in the dirt and covered in pig's meat, holding back a fresh stream of tears. He had to struggle to keep his own eyes from burning white.

"I think we're good, thanks," he told her, before bending down and offering a claw to the green gargoyle. "We're just gonna take this one off your hands, if you don't mind. Since you apparently don't give a rat's ass about your _own_ rookery daughter."

Hesitantly, as if expecting the proffered hand to be yanked away at any moment, Makani allowed Brooklyn to help her to her feet.

Honua, meanwhile, just stared forward, her expression unreadable.

"I don't know what this _lukeli_ you speak of is…but I can't say I care right now. Just _go,_ " she said, looking back at the devastated valley. While no lives had been claimed, the _menehune_ had utterly demolished all the structures they used to store food and clothing. "My clan needs me."

And with that, the fire-orange gargoyle dismissed them with a wide sweep of her tattered, useless wing.

[-]

At Awāwa's suggestion, the group glided over to the beach, giving the Hawaiian Clan a wide berth as they worked to rebuild.

Despite everything, Brooklyn couldn't help but be struck again by the sheer _beauty_ of this place. The sands were something halfway between a very dark brown and pitch-black, and were surrounded on all sides by larger, uneven stones of similar hues – the ones just far enough away from the roaring waters to escape their constant weathering.

It appeared they'd arrived during high tide, as the waves continuously crashed against the sands at heights of six feet or more. They were close enough now to feel the spray whenever a particularly strong wave made impact.

The sight and feel of it all seemed to have a profound effect on Makani, who slowly walked to the water's edge and sat down, feet digging into the soft sands. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her wings around herself, making herself look as small as possible.

None of them were quite sure what to say. They simply stood back, watching uncomfortably, as the ocean's waves swept against her.

Both of the beasts seemed drawn to her, perhaps sensing her melancholy, but when Makani didn't react to their attempt at nuzzling they bounded past her, sniffing at and playing amidst the water.

Eventually, in a low voice, she muttered, "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," said Zafira immediately, unhesitatingly striding over and matching her posture. After a second's pause, both Brooklyn and Benuthet did the same. The waters were only at about ankle-height when they reached them, and Brooklyn had to admit the sensation of his claws within the wet sand was quite pleasant. "It is _she_ who…"

"Honua's just looking out for what's best for the clan," Makani interrupted her, her eyes directed at the distant moon, out over the ocean's surface. "Which…isn't me. I'm no good as a leader, and I never _will_ be. I've asked her over and over to let me step down, but…"

"Nonsense. We all saw you yesterday," declared Brooklyn. "You led like a pro when you were saving those humans. And your ideas about leaving the island…well, I guess it's not really my place to say whether those're _right_ or not. But you shouldn't have gotten punished for it."

"You don't understand," replied the muscular gargoyle, the rasp in her voice deepening. "You haven't seen what we've been through – what _she's_ been through. This is just the ways things are. The way they _have_ to be."

"Well, it's not just _us_ who think it!" Brooklyn said, raising his voice slightly. "C'mon, Awāwa, back me up!"

But when he looked back, the tan-skinned gargoyle was gone once again.

"Seriously?!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, he just does that sometimes," Makani told them, shrugging. "For as long as I've known him. He'll be back."

Benny frowned slightly when he heard this, but said nothing.

"I… _appreciate_ what you all did for me," she added after a little while, a low sigh escaping her beak. "But I'm not worth making enemies of Honua. You should probably just return, gather some food for your journey, and sail back to your _Man'hakan._ Forget about us. If this is the time for our clan to finally come to an end…I don't want to drag _you_ into it, too."

"That's, err…not exactly an option for us," said Brooklyn, grimacing nervously. He was never quite sure how much to tell people about his – _their_ – circumstances. "Let's just say we're all a _long_ way from home. And we've got no way of knowing _when_ we'll be able to make it back."

"Ah…I see…" she mumbled, eyes drifting to Fu-Dog and Kebechet, who were now amusing themselves by splashing each other with their snouts and front claws. Brooklyn could tell she wanted to ask for more, but couldn't muster the will to say it out loud. "So you are stranded, then. In a way…I guess that's a thing we have in common."

"And as long as we are, we'd like to help you and your clan with your present tribulations. If we're able," Benuthet stated with a nod. "You could start by telling us more about these _'menehune'_ creatures."

"No one knows exactly where they come from. But they were here on these islands before even we arrived," answered Makani, her face relaxing slightly. It seemed she was grateful for the change in subject. "But they've never acted like… _this,_ before. They're builders, not destroyers. They've crafted all sorts of canoes, homes, and _heiau,_ as gifts for the humans."

Brooklyn thought back to the rabid, feral look in their little eyes, and had a hard time imagining them as the particularly "generous" sort.

"It's true that they've never liked _Nawao,_ the way they love the humans. We roost in a lot of the same territories – valleys and mountains and deep forests," she said, reading his expression. "But the worst any one's done before tonight is shake their fist and grumble when we glide by. _This_ is…I just don't understand…"

"There're actually numerous stories of helpful 'little people' across the world," explained Benny. "I read a book on the subject once at Alexandria. Its records were incomplete, of course, but there were enough examples to pull together a working theory."

"The Maya had a similar legend," Zee offered. "The _Aluxo'ob._ They like to play tricks, but also bring fortune to crops."

"Not to mention Scottish brownies or Irish leprechauns. Err…kinda," said Brooklyn. "And _then_ there was that Dance to Lilliput…"

He suppressed a shiver.

"Yes, well, the tome theorized that these are the result of magical energy that's… _cast off,_ for lack of a better term," continued the leonine gargoyle. "The same way that humans and gargoyles shed skin, the Third Race leave traces of pure magic in places they congregate. Over time, these can take on living form. That's why they dissipate so easily: they're barely held together at the seams to begin with."

"All very interesting, my love," Zafira told her mate, meaning every word. She wasn't anywhere nearly as scholarly inclined as he was, but it was obvious she found that trait of his highly attractive. "Still, I'm not sure how much it helps us right _now._ "

"My apologies. I wanted to give a primer on the subject before moving on to my main point…but I may have gone a bit overboard," Benny replied, grinning lopsidedly and scratching at his mane. "In any event, the makeup of such creatures makes them uniquely sensitive to changes in an area's 'flow' of magic. Have there been any other signs recently that something's amiss – wildlife acting strangely, for example?"

"Now that you mention it…" said Makani, now deep in thought. "The reason I was so late in getting back with the food I hunted last night…I was attacked by…"

Suddenly, she stopped speaking. Instead, her ears perked up, flapping out from amidst her thick hair.

And hers weren't the only ones.

Both of the beasts were growling now, and Fu-Dog gnashed his teeth, clearly agitated. Within a couple of seconds, the other three gargoyles also picked up the source of the disturbance – a low-pitched humming sound, which was gradually picking up in frequency.

Soon enough, the persistent hum was joined by a number of other noises. Buzzing, hissing, cawing and screeching…

Finally, from the trees at the edge of the beach, the creatures all emerged at once.

Insects. Lizards. Large, ugly birds, their beaks extended to a sharp point. There must've been _thousands,_ gathered into dense flocks and swarms so thick they looked completely solid.

And each and every one of them looked _just_ as intent on tearing into them as the _menehune_ had.

The gargoyles all leapt to their feet at once. Brooklyn drew his tenth century sword, Zafira her obsidian blade, and Benuthet his mammoth-ivory wand.

Makani had no weapons, but timidly raised her fists. Her ample musculature didn't quite make up for what she lacked in aggressive posture.

"…That," she finished, completely unnecessarily.

[-]

For sixteen, brutal seconds, the six of them stood there on the water's edge – four gargoyles, and two beasts. Directly across from a wild army that stretched across the entire beach.

Zafira was a hair-trigger away from leaping into battle. Benuthet had cycled through all the spells at his disposal, and was already gathering the energies for a bolt of lightning.

But none of that wound up mattering. Because on that sixteenth second, _precisely,_ another figure leapt between the two sides.

It was clearly, _obviously,_ Awāwa, except for the part where it most definitely _wasn't._ This individual shared his massive build, and titanic muscles, and – probably most striking of all – each and every one of his myriad tattoos.

Yet he also had five stubby fingers rather than four sharp talons. Skin that was a few shades off from Awāwa's sandy tan.

Oh…and no _wings._

"Come on!" he called out, his voice booming across the entire beach. "Like _anyone_ didn't see this coming!"

That was all the preamble he gave before leaping into battle with a great, whooping holler.

The strange warrior – whose body was human but whose voice was unmistakably Awāwa's – wielded no weapon, but unlike Makani it didn't seem to detract from his image one iota. Somehow, Brooklyn got the sense that a weapon would only slow this guy down.

And that was borne to bear as he crossed thirty feet in the blink of an eye, cocked back his fist…and unleashed a single punch.

He hadn't actually been aiming for anything in particular, it seemed, as his fist only struck air. But the resultant shockwave was another story. The forward momentum of his punch was _so_ great that it produced a gust of gale-force wind, sending nearly _half_ the creatures flying all at once.

The warrior didn't stop there, either. Another volley of jabs followed, each one producing a blast of wind or violently shaking the ground, depending on where he directed it.

Either way, the animals were slowly but surely being forced back, unable to keep up against his rapid-fire assault. Despite his enormous frame, his reflexes were like lightning.

" _Noooooope,_ sorry!" he said, as a swarm of black bees tried to overwhelm him while he was busy forcing back a couple of oversized carrion birds. "Hard Rule: no stingers on the bod!"

At these words, the tattoos across his body began to glow a deep, ocean-blue. There was a pulsing burst of energy Brooklyn had come to recognize as a sign of sorcery – and then Awāwa stood in the warrior's place, batting away the insects with one grand sweep of his newly regrown wings.

And that was how Awāwa continued to fight over the next several minutes, switching species on the fly as the situation demanded. Gargoyle to human, human to gargoyle; Brooklyn wasn't sure if those were the only the only forms he _could_ take or simply the ones he _wished_ to take, but based on his track record he wasn't sure Awāwa _needed_ anything else.

Interestingly, Awāwa seemed to be trying _not_ to kill as many of the creatures as he could help – though it was understandably difficult not to smash _some_ of the insects, if only incidentally. Still, his intent was clearly just on forcing them back into the forest.

Whatever reason he had for this, Brooklyn couldn't argue with the results. As soon as they crossed some invisible threshold, the beasts became more or less docile, losing any interest in running or flying back to the beach.

Eventually, after a good five minutes or so of alternately shapeshifting and punching, the last few straggling spiders completed their retreat, leaving only a handful of holdouts: each of them lizards, but varying widely in size, color, and sharpness of their bared teeth.

Even in the face of Awāwa's full-force blows, they stubbornly refused to budge. The tattooed warrior, currently in his human form, shook his head and made a "tsk-tsk" sound.

"Ol' Lizard-Face _really_ has his fangs in you, doesn't he?" he asked, crossing his arms and sighing deeply. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised…you _are_ his main _kinolau,_ after all. Well, if you won't go back to Kāne gently…"

And without further to-do, the warrior scooped up all of the lizards at once, holding back their gnashing teeth and spewing spit, pulled his overmuscled arm as far back as it could go…and hurled them all clear out of the valley.

It was a throw of at _least_ a mile.

"There is…no _possible_ way they survived that," said Brooklyn as he slowly walked up, his tone utterly dry.

The warrior just shrugged. "Eh, better shot than if they'd continued messing with _me,_ " he told the Scottish gargoyle, patting him condescendingly on the head.

"Awāwa…you're…" mumbled Makani, hands over her mouth.

"What? Seriously, it was so _obvious!_ I just thought the clan'd been humoring me all this time," he responded, smiling confidently and flexing his arms. "C'mon… _Awāwa?_ You know, 'the valley'? And which island is known as the 'Valley Isle'? Really, if you didn't get this one, it's your own fault."

Makani's eyes went wide as saucers as she looked upon the tattooed human. Slowly, tremblingly, her beak formed the answer.

" _Māui_ …"

[-]

Wearing her deepest scowl, Honua stomped through Waimanu Valley, barking orders at her clansmembers as they worked to rebuild from the _menehune_ assault.

Stopping in front of a pile of detritus that'd once housed their stores of fresh rainwater, the orange gargoyle slowly bent over to see if there was anything salvageable, her muscles groaning in protest all the while. As stubbornly as she did anything, she gritted her teeth and fought through the pain.

At 112, Honua wasn't _especially_ old by gargoyle standards, but most of those years had been spent fighting tooth and nail nearly every single night, simply to keep her clan alive. And she had the scars to prove it.

Running, climbing, even just bending too far forward like this; all of it made her body feel like it was on _fire,_ putting strain on injuries so old and so deep that stone sleep would _never_ be able to heal them. And of course – thanks to an ill-timed spear that'd torn a huge chunk out of her left wing – she hadn't been able to glide for almost forty years.

All told, physically, she was _far_ from her peak…and growing weaker. Slower. Another few nights like this one, and…

Honua shook her head, concentrating on sifting through the rubble. She _needed_ to be strong, for her clan. For her _children._ She couldn't afford to let herself be anything else.

Not until Makani was ready to lead.

Her jaw clenched as the mental image of her Second-in-Command, trembling and pathetic, swam through her mind. They were nowhere closer to that point than they'd been twenty years ago.

Both of them had, of course, entertained the notion of shifting the burden to another – many times over. But those moments were always brief, fleeting. Honua hadn't erred in her original decision, and time was going to bear that out.

And if it didn't…then she would _make_ it so.

While she had no intention of ever _telling_ the girl this, the qualities that made her a worthy successor – the _only_ worthy successor – grew more pronounced by the night. She was a natural-born leader, quick with her decision-making and skilled at delegating tasks. She knew the island from shore to shore, and had a keen enough mind to recognize and steer the clan away from dangers.

And it certainly didn't hurt that she was the most _physically_ adept of her children. Muscles were far from everything, but the _image_ they represented was vital. To survive in a world like this, a leader needed to demonstrate strength in everything they did. They couldn't afford to slip up, even for a moment.

With her short frame, thin muscles, and obvious disability, Honua had needed to put triple the effort into projecting strength in her every word and deed. But Makani was already halfway there, simply by the accident of her birth.

So why couldn't she simply _grow up,_ and _claim_ that other half?

It was endlessly frustrating, to watch that silly girl squander all her potential on cowering in corners and nightdreaming endlessly over fool's errands. Like leaving the island, for example. And those frustrations came out in the form of fists and claws.

Honua didn't _want_ to hurt her daughter; not for its own sake, at least. She certainly didn't touch any of her _other_ children that way. Well…not unless she had a _really_ good reason.

Still, she simply couldn't see any other choice. Makani – stupid, pigheaded Makani – didn't respond to _anything_ but brute force. If the price of her clan surviving into the next century was a few bruises on the girl's behalf…

Then so be it.

"Honua!" called out a large-bellied yellow gargoyle, one generation younger than her. He was bounding toward her with great urgency. "Please, you need to see this!"

The clan leader adopted her usual scowl more or less reflexively – but he'd been placed in charge of managing the clan's resources thanks to his cool and logical mind, so she knew he wouldn't be speaking in such a way without a good reason.

"What is it, Uila?" she asked, as he bent forward and rested his claws on his thighs, huffing and puffing.

"It'll be… _whew_ …easier to just… _ugh_ …show you," he said.

Honua followed the younger gargoyle through thick, dense greenery, away from the clearings where they usually made their home. Eventually, they reached their main food source: an ample thicket of banana and coconut trees.

Except that nearly all the fruits had been reduced to withered husks.

"It's gotten worse," added Uila, his voice low and throaty. "And it's _spreading._ "

Honua slowly picked a blackened, ashy banana from its branch. It crumbled in her hand.

"Last week, it was only a few," she muttered, her tone vaguely accusatory. "You said cutting down the sick trees would save the rest."

"And it would've…if this were a _normal_ disease," said Uila. "But I've never seen anything like this before. I think it may be spreading by magic – _powerful_ magic. It may only be days before the entire _valley_ is overtaken."

Honua gritted her teeth. Magic was one of the many things she was _not_ fond of.

"One…of those strangers is a sorcerer," she replied after a moment. "Given the timing, he may well be the cause of this. Send a few warriors to the beach; I think that's where they glided off to."

"If I may, Honua…" he stated quietly, looking askance for a moment. "Many in the clan are asking questions about the foreign _Nawao._ Perhaps we should speak with them, learn more about how they came here, before accusing…"

"Do _not_ question me," ordered Honua, cutting him off. "There's nothing we could learn that'd be of any value. Nothing…except how to stop _this._ "

She tossed the shell of a rotting coconut at his feet.

"But…well, Makani was right about one thing," said Uila, his voice growing even lower than before. He knew those weren't smart words to say around Honua when she was in a bad mood – in other words, most of the time. "Their existence _proves_ that _Nawao_ survive outside of Hawai'i. This could be the key to the fate of our race!"

"I don't _care_ about 'the fate of our race.' I care about the fate of our _clan,_ " the orange gargoyle hissed. "And that's all a clan leader _should_ care about. It's my duty. Now, go and do _yours._ "

Uila swallowed, in the face of the expression his leader wore, but ultimately nodded his acquiescence.

"Find out what's happening to our island. At all costs," she demanded, affixing the hundreds of dead or dying trees with a glare of pure, unfocused hatred.

"And…find out _why._ "

[-]

"Can someone explain what in the name of the Archmage's saggy butt-cheek is going on here?" demanded Brooklyn, more than a little exasperated with "Awāwa" at this point. "Given the whole shapeshifting thing, I'm guessing you're one of Oberon's Children?"

" _Weeeeeeeeeeell_ …yes and no. Mostly 'yes.' But with a big fat helping of 'no' on the side," said the man whom Makani had called "Māui," shrugging his overbroad shoulders. "Technically, I'm a demigod – a halfling. Dad was definitely one of the Children. Mom's…a little trickier."

"Some of the legends say that Māui was born to a human woman, but hatched from an egg," Makani explained, her voice still all but breathless. "Wait, do you mean… _that_ egg was actually…?"

"You know it!" exclaimed Māui with a smile. "No idea _how,_ but this was before Lord Oberon's whole 'non-interference' dealio, so I'm _assuming_ there was some powerful mojo involved. A human womb _shouldn't_ be able to carry a gargoyle egg to term, but if magic was used to maintain it every single day…who knows? I mean, those same legends _also_ say mom got impregnated by a loincloth, _sooooooooo_ …"

The demigod let out a loud, overdramatic yawn, and stretched his brawny arms.

"Long and short of it is, I have no _idea_ which race my mortal half belongs to by _blood,_ " he added after a moment, looking almost bored by the subject. "Far as I've always been concerned, I'm _both._ Probably why those are the only two forms I can take. Rest of my magic side's focused on making me super-strong, super-fast, and the handsomest son of a shark this side of Mauna Loa!"

He emphasize this point by running his fingers through his long, flowing locks, as if expecting to cause sparkles to fly from them.

But while Makani's expression remained astonished, she did _not_ look impressed. Frowning, she said quietly, "No offense, but I've always thought of Māui as…well, as a _human_ hero. After what you did…err, or at least what they _say_ you did…"

All the machismo and bravado instantly disappeared from Māui's face, and for the first time since transforming he displayed something other than an overconfident smirk. Some mixture of sadness, self-doubt…and most of all, _guilt._

"'They' say right, Makani," he told her. "I caused this mess…or at least, I made it worse. But I've spent a _long_ time trying to fix it. That's the reason I joined your clan in the first place. Why I've sworn to make sure gargoyles _never_ die out in Polynesia."

"How long have you been doing this?" she asked, her voice cracking a bit. "Living… _with_ us?"

"Well, keep in mind that I switch names and appearances every generation or two," Māui responded. "But when you total it all up? Hmm…maybe five or six hundred years?"

"I have completely lost the thread of this conversation," said Zafira, shaking her head. "Please tell me I'm not alone in that."

"I think I gather the gist…although there's much still yet to be explained," declared Benuthet. "Perhaps most urgently, however…we should address what just happened. Do you know what drove those creatures to act so viciously? Or what calmed them down? You mentioned 'returning them to Kāne,' or something along those lines…"

"Kāne is king of the _akua._ The gods and spirits that inhabit these islands," Māui answered, pointing to one of his tattoos, directly over his left breast. It resembled the head of a tiki statue, its mouth wide and eyes tall and angular. "Along with his brothers, he brought light and life into this world. The forest, the trees – those are _his_ domain. _His_ body. Once the beasts crossed back into it, they fell back under his rule."

"Which implies they were being ruled by something _else_ before that," Brooklyn pointed out. "So can we just have a straight answer here? _One,_ that's all I'm asking for. Would be a nice change of pace."

"Afraid I'm fresh out of those, bro," said Māui, shrugging again. "But I can tell you what I _guess._ Remember what told you about? What happened last year? What's been happening _since?_ "

All three of the travelers nodded grimly. Brooklyn wasn't sure he was ever going to _forget._

"Well, thing is, this kinda stuff has only been getting worse and worse lately," the demigod continued. "Animals and spirits going berserk. Plants dying from disease. Even the gods are spooked – just so you know, short as her temper _usually_ is, Pele's tantrum yesterday was the worst she's had in _centuries._ "

Brooklyn assumed he must be talking about the eruption…though, having no idea who "Pele" was in context, his mind immediately jumped to soccer.

For obvious reasons, he did not vocalize this mental leap.

Benny, meanwhile, adopted an odd, thoughtful expression – the same one he'd worn while picking up hints of Awāwa's semi-divinity. Brooklyn made a mental note to ask him about it later.

"Anyway, put it all together, and there's only one culprit I can think of," Māui eventually said, his face twisting in something halfway between disgust and abject horror. "But what it _implies_ …yeah, sorry. _Not_ a lot that can make the Hero of Mortals shiver in his sandals, but… _brrrrrrrr._ "

His expression told the tale. He _wasn't_ kidding.

"I just don't know what he's doing _here,_ " he went on, after a moment, no longer meeting any of them directly in the eye. "Even _if_ he was free – and he shouldn't be, seriously, he _really_ shouldn't be – he's always hung out around Aotearoa. Or whatever those invaders are calling it now. Unless, of course…he _is_ there, and he's already powerful enough to affect the entire ocean. _Oooooh,_ that would be bad, bad bad bad bad _bad_ …"

"Please just get to the point, if you wouldn't mind," interjected Zafira, her arms crossed.

"Alright, you asked for it," spoke the demigod, his face paling slightly. "See, I don't know where you guys come from… _really_ come from…or how these things work over there. But in Polynesia, you'll see a lot of gods playing roles across multiple pantheons. On a couple other islands, Kāne goes by 'Tāne' – same guy, different aspect. And _in_ that aspect…he has a brother."

Māui took in a deep breath, his enormous body tensed up so much it looked like a single, rigid tree trunk, before leaning forward and whispering, " _Wh_ …"

But before he could get out more than that lone, strained sound, another sound reached their ears, and Māui immediately fell silent. The waves of the ocean had been fairly calm and relaxed for the last several minutes, but now they could just barely make out a steady rhythm of splashes – ones that were growing closer by the second.

Soon enough, from around a nearby outcropping, a small canoe came into view, propelled by two broad, flat oars. A floating structure of support bars were attached to its left side, providing extra stability for the vessel.

And for its four passengers.

"All hands! Becalm!" called out the man at the bow, and dutifully one of the paddlers let out the small sail attached to the canoe, allowing them to steer it carefully toward shore.

Both of the men manning the oars resembled Keōua's warriors in build and garb, though they also wore full-face helmets carved from some kind of gourd, decorated with feathers and plant fibers to resemble a wild mane and beard. They disembarked first, stepping aside and crouching low – though with heavy weapons still held at the ready, bone-white and jagged like Honua's.

The man who'd spoken stepped onto the beach next, his own head bent over slightly but his beady eyes staring intently at the gathered gargoyles. His face was a sallow, unremarkable one, but its shade – a ruddy sort of pink – made his foreignness clear at a glance. The mud-brown overcoat and wrinkled white undershirt he wore only enhanced the sense that he _really_ didn't belong here.

Which was a far cry from the final passenger, whose entire attire seemed to consist of a single, golden wrap – somewhat like the one around Makani's chest, but _much_ greater in size. This was because…well, Brooklyn wasn't sure how to put it delicately, but it had to cover a _significantly_ larger area.

She wasn't an especially tall woman, but what she lacked in height she _more_ than made up in width. Yet, whether in spite of that fact or maybe _because_ of it, there was a distinct air about her that _radiated_ power.

This was a woman, Brooklyn could instantly tell, who was used to giving orders. Who gave orders, and _knew_ they would be obeyed. He didn't even need to hear her speak.

One look into her eyes, resting beneath a small crown of red and yellow feathers, and he had to resist the urge to take a step back.

"Gargoyles. It is an honor," said the white man, removing a sailor's hat from his curly hair and bowing his head still further. He had a hard English accent, with a hint of Scottish at the edges. As with Māui, Brooklyn mentally noted he hadn't used "Nawao."

"In the name of His Majesty, King Kamehameha the Great," added the woman, her voice deep and commanding. "We have come to bargain."

[-]

 **The Forbidden City, China, 1790 A.D.**

At that very same moment, thousands of miles away, an old man swept his broom calmly through a busy street.

There was nothing remarkable about him, apart perhaps from his flowing white beard, which reached down nearly to his waist. His faded green robes, cheap and matted with dirt, denoted him as the lowliest of servants – meaning that in a place like _this,_ he was essentially invisible.

For there could not have been a greater contrast between the humble sweeper and the streets upon which he labored. All around him stood the most opulent structures in a country _obsessed_ with opulence, from magnificent gates to shining temples. Nearly every surface gleamed a brilliant red, with the roofs tiled yellow; the colors of the Qianlong Emperor.

It was almost amusing, how two kingdoms – displaced from each other by over five thousand miles of sea, and whose people had first interacted a mere two years prior – could arrive at the same visual shorthand for divine power.

Most of the people moving about the sweeper were various flavors of government bureaucrats, from military advisers to tax collectors, all of them intent on expanding the Qing Dynasty into the greatest empire on the face of the Earth. Depending on the statistic used, this was the year they'd finally _succeeded._

Yet, though he received no glances from these very important people that weren't in some way contemptuous, the sweeper's face was forever cool and serene. He smiled at each and every passerby, apparently uncaring whether the gesture was returned, and whenever he thought he could get away with it he whistled a jaunty tune.

While it was shortly past sunset on the island of Hawai'i, in Beijing it was broad daylight. It was a mark of how little the imperial agents thought of their servants, then, that was happened next went completely unnoticed.

Another man appeared – simply _appeared_ – within the bounds of the city's towering walls, and marched without preamble toward the sweeper.

He was far larger than the old man, with powerful muscles and sleek black hair bound tightly into a bun. He wore nothing but a single, pure-white loincloth, and wielded a spear made of _koa_ wood…though further examination would find the blunt end of the spear was no weapon at all, but rather a wide-paddled oar.

But his most striking feature protruded from his back. Attached to his shoulder blades by no apparent straps or mechanism were two lengthy branches, also of _koa,_ and hanging from each were the broad, crisp leaves of the _kalo_ plant – known in this place as _yùtóu,_ and more widely around the world as "taro."

The leaves were arranged like feathers, so that he somewhat resembled an enormous bird, or perhaps an angel.

Or…even _more_ closely…

The bearded man looked up from his work, and his smile widened even further. "You look well, Kāne," he said.

The king of the Hawaiian Pantheon frowned slightly, as if deep in thought, before twirling his spear upside down and planting it between the stone bricks that tiled the ground, oar-side up. He left it behind him as he drew still closer.

"I am uncertain whether I should bow," he told the sweeper, mighty arms crossed. "For can this even still be called your court, Jade Emperor?"

The old man kept right on sweeping.

"A facsimile, certainly. But one that grants the mortals meaning," answered the Emperor, after a few moments. "They pattern their bureaucracy after that of the heavens, and their court after mine. In doing so, they believe they infuse _their_ emperor with the same flow of power as I."

Kāne made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a grunt. "Has it worked?" he asked.

"Results have varied," said the Jade Emperor. "The Pharaohs of Egypt prove that being seen as the embodiment of a god…makes one no less fallible than any other man. I'm particularly disappointed in the current Emperor. I had high hopes – his reign has made China as wealthy and prosperous as it's ever been. But he's grown idle and complacent in recent years. Today, this walled city is a hotbed of corruption and waste."

"It was a mistake to grant the humans this notion of 'wealth' in the first place," Kāne replied, his expression haughty. "All it does is cause conflict. The people of the islands understand that no one man can 'own' the land, or the water, or the trees."

"Perhaps. But even in the absence of such things, mortals will always find a reason to fight," the old man pointed out. "One year ago, a boat full of fur traders returned to China – the first of their people to visit your lands. They told me of a war, started by a young prince of boundless ambition. One that threatens to tear apart all that their society is built upon. If I may ask…how many of your chosen remain?"

As he said these words, his eyes drifted meaningfully over the forest god's wooden wings.

At this, for once, Kāne's expression became downcast. "…Too few," he murmured.

Several seconds passed in uncomfortable silence. Eventually, desperate to change the subject, the god-chief demanded, " _Why_ do you debase yourself like this? We are equals, you and I – kings of the heavens, vassals to our Lord Oberon. Yet here you are, playing the part of some…some _common_ …"

"Was it not our Lord's decree that we live amongst the mortals for a time?" said the Jade Emperor, a smile playing upon his lips. "Were we not to learn humility, and seek to understand their lives?"

"I know mortals. I know _humans._ Everything I've ever _done,_ I've done for them," Kāne spat bitterly. "And you couldn't even _begin_ to understand what they've cost me in return."

"The fall of Hawaiki was not the mortals' fault," the Emperor declared, his tone muted. "Deep down, you know this to be true."

A deep, humorless snort of a laugh escaped the light god's throat.

"Perhaps we'll soon have another chance to argue the point," he responded, switching gears once more. "The seal is weakening. This close to the ocean, you _must_ have felt it."

The Emperor folded his fingers across the tip of his broom, taking a deep breath, before saying, "It was… _one_ of the possibilities I'd considered."

Kāne turned back to his oar, carefully wrenching it from the earth and holding it tightly in his grasp.

"My brother cannot exist – _should_ not exist – outside the Underworld, without a tether to bind him here," he continued on, his voice low. "During the First War, Mother herself was that tether. We were both born from her earth, in union with the sky. But now she is gone, never to return. Unless…"

The old man raised an eyebrow. "Unless…?" he repeated.

"Do you not realize what this means?" asked Kāne, tightening his grip on his spear still further. "If one of the Unseelie becomes free…more could follow. More _will_ follow. And any two of them would be enough to end the world as we know it."

A finger tapped softly at the Jade Emperor's chin; despite the severity of the subject matter, his expression remained as calm and peaceful as ever. After a moment's pause, he said, "Have you figured out _why_ the seal may be weakening?"

Kāne frowned, his eyes glancing past his fellow vassal – toward the hustling and bustling bureaucrats of the Forbidden City, who continued to pass him by like he was an uninspired tree arrangement.

"I am uncertain," he admitted, voice somewhat distant. "But I think I have a fairly good guess."

And with that, Kāne began to tell much the same story that Māui had provided the time-travelers on the previous night.

He spoke of men with pale skin, with weapons beyond even the gods' comprehension. He spoke, in particular, of the events that'd brought two of those men into Kamehameha's court…and helped to turn the would-be king into the most dangerous warlord the Hawaiian Islands had ever seen.

About one year prior, an American named Simon Metcalfe had arrived in Hawai'i on the _Eleanora_ – a fur trading ship that, coincidentally enough, had been crewed in large part by Chinese laborers. A Londoner by birth and supporter of the American Revolution, Captain Metcalfe also possessed an infamously short temper, and a trigger-finger to match.

This combination proved disastrous when Metcalfe was greeted by Chief Kame'eiamoku, _ali'i pi'o_ of Kohala and one of Kamehameha's closest friends and advisors. The high chief's mannerisms offended the captain in some way, and so he ordered Kame'eiamoku to be publically flogged.

For obvious reasons, Metcalfe was no longer been welcome on the Island of Hawai'i after that point. So instead, he decided to try his luck on the coast of Māui.

But few of the Valley Isle's people had ever seen such a ship as the _Eleanora._ Its iron nails fascinated a people who'd never known advanced metalcraft, and so one night, several young men from the farming village of Olowalu conspired to steal a small boat from its train.

In the ensuing struggle, one of Metcalfe's men was killed. This was the last straw for a man who hadn't exactly had many to start with.

Metcalfe sailed to Olowalu, and announced to the villagers that he wished to trade peacefully. Canoes were launched by the dozens. Men, women, and even children were excited to see the big fancy _hāʻole_ ship up close.

And then, once nearly half the entire village was gathered together in the bay…

The captain ordered his cannons to open fire.

Over a hundred were killed in the slaughter, and half more than that suffered grievous injuries. White men would come to call the event the Olowalu Massacre.

The natives had a different name: _Kalolopahu._ The spilling of brains.

Soon after, unbeknownst to Metcalfe, the _Eleanora's_ sister ship, the _Fair American,_ made landfall on Hawai'i Island. Kame'eiamoku, still smarting from his humiliation, set upon and murdered the entire crew, save one. Welshman Isaac Davis was spared, for reasons even _he_ wasn't certain of, but his fellow sailors weren't so lucky.

This included his commanding officer – who was none other than Captain Metcalfe's eighteen-year-old son, Thomas Metcalfe.

The elder Metcalfe had come to Hawaii, in part, to rendezvous with his son, and after a few weeks without word from the _Fair American,_ he began to grow anxious. Unwilling to personally step foot on the islands after what he'd done, he dispatched his boatswain, John Young, to investigate.

By this point, both the _Fair American_ and its lone surviving hostage had been delivered to Kamehameha as spoils of war. When Young came searching for answers, he too was captured, so that Captain Metcalfe would not learn of Thomas' fate.

Eventually, Simon Metcalfe decided he couldn't wait any longer, and sailed on to China – leaving Young behind. To his dying day, he would never find out what became of his son.

The captain's visit had been short, but it'd been enough to alter the destiny of the islands forevermore. In the year since, Davis and Young had become close friends and advisors to their new liege, arming him with military knowledge and weaponry that far outpaced his foes. The _Fair American_ had been stripped of its cannons, muskets, and gunpowder – all of which became the cornerstone of many conquests to come.

But those were _far_ from the worst consequences of Metcalfe's actions.

"Olowalu was _pu'uhonua._ A place of refuge," said Kāne, as he proceeded to wind down his tale. "Even those who broke the laws of the gods were safe there. By grace of my brother Lono, in that village there would be no war. No killing. Not a single drop of spilt blood."

"And now…" murmured the Jade Emperor, his voice now gravely serious.

"And now, it is tainted beyond relief," the god-chief finished for him. "Not _just_ because of the slaughter itself. There were so many bodies, lost amongst so many canoes. Most…couldn't be recovered."

He leaned forward slightly, before adding in a low, dangerous voice, "And you _know_ how Whiro feeds."

The Emperor folded his hands again. "How long do we have?" he asked.

"There's no way to be sure. Weeks, perhaps…or less," answered Kāne. "The invaders worsen the problem with each passing day. Like the mortals of _this_ nation, they bury their dead in the earth – with _all_ its _mana_ still intact. To do so within the Triangle…"

The forest god's muscular hands gripped still tighter onto his spear, before abruptly releasing the tension.

"Will you aid me?" he said, much more quietly. "I've already petitioned a dozen other vassals – Odin, Horus, Zeus, Marduk, the Dagda, Quetzalcoatl. At worst, they laughed off my warnings. At _best,_ they turned inward, to reinforce their own prisons. None could spare more than token words."

Lips pursed, the old man slowly resumed his sweeping. His eyes were directed toward the ground, but his voice remained cool and level.

"I have no desire to see what happened to Hawaiki repeat itself," the Jade Emperor declared. "But I'm uncertain how much help I'd be, limited by Oberon's Law. If this problem is being wrought by mortal hands…then it is by mortal hands that it must be solved."

Kāne glared contemptuously at his fellow god, as if half-wishing he'd misheard him. "As I said," he grunted, teeth pressed together. "Token words."

Suddenly, the god-chief saw little point in remaining here. He wasn't entirely certain _why_ he'd wasted so much time here, now that he thought upon it. Not while he…

"I will keep an eye out, of course," called out the Emperor, before he could muster the energy to leave this place. "There is more and more commerce between our lands each day. And you stated this 'Metcalfe' was on his way to China. Perhaps he can be found. Perhaps he can be convinced to make restitution."

"I'm not sure it'll make a difference, at this point. Even if it _was_ possible," said Kāne, his handsome face taught and forlorn. "But I suppose it's better than nothing. I'll take the tiniest sliver of hope in these dark days."

And with that, he swept his oar in a wide arc across the paved ground. Despite being made of solid stone, the bricks easily flowed aside, as if they were the surface of the sea. Naturally, the passing officials continued not to notice.

It was always… _amusing_ to see how much mortals could miss, when they weren't looking for it. At a better time, Kāne might've even laughed.

Instead, at his unspoken command, an Avalonian skiff slowly rose from the now-liquid ground. Even here, far away from his place of power, the vessel knew its master.

He'd created it, after all.

"Kāne…would you honor me with one more question?" the Jade Emperor spoke up again, before his fellow vassal could board. "One I have little right to ask, given how little I have offered you today. But…"

"I've seen no new signs of your 'Monkey King,' old friend," said Kāne, cutting across him, knowing what he was about to ask. Still, the god-chief's voice softened noticeably. "But I too will continue to keep an eye out. It's in his nature to be a journeyman."

"Nevertheless, he's been missing from my court now for over three thousand years," responded the Emperor, nodding solemnly. "He has tried my patience more times than I can count; that is true. But I still consider him a true and valued friend."

"Trust me. His is a name that is always on my mind," Kāne told the bearded man, as he squeezed his muscular body into the thin boat. There was a reason he preferred wider canoes. "My son-in-law would never let me forget. After all, they too were friends…once."

Those were the last words spoken before the king of the _akua_ set sail straight through solid ground, and disappeared from the most powerful empire on the face of the Earth.


	3. Episode III: Huaka'i Po

_**Gargoyles: TimeDancer – Hawaiki – Episode III: Huaka'i Pō**_

 _Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Gargoyles. All Gargoyles-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Disney, Greg Weisman, and Frank Paur._

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"Kamehameha…I _know_ I've heard that name somewhere before tonight…" Brooklyn murmured to himself, if only for lack of anything else to say.

It came to him, a moment later, though as soon as it did he clapped his beak resolutely shut. Because he was pretty sure nobody would appreciate him bringing up that "Annie May" thing Lex tried to show them once.

"My husband, and the rightful monarch of these blessed isles," said the human woman, frowning impatiently. "And he calls upon you now, children of Kāne…so that together, we may claim them once and for all."

"He isn't the first guy who's thought he could rule Hawai'i," responded Māui, his tone growing harsh. "Doubt he'll be the last, either."

The woman looked him over coolly, dark eyes traveling up and down the demigod's body. Brooklyn couldn't honestly blame her; while currently in his human form, Māui still had distinctly "gargoyle-esque" proportions, and the effect was somewhat jarring.

"That may well be," she declared. "But His Majesty is the first with the power, wisdom, and courage necessary to _succeed._ Already he is within striking distance of conquering _this_ – the grandest and most bountiful of the islands. Only one obstacle remains…and he will not be an obstacle for much longer."

"Keōua," said Benuthet quietly.

The large woman's face became a stony mask. "I see you are remarkably well-informed," she replied, tone neutral. "But yes. Keōua Kū'ahu'ula…my foolish, wayward cousin. He refuses to see reason, and step aside for his king. But the gods have spoken. One way or another, dominion of these islands _is_ my husband's destiny. By force, if necessary."

"We can do much for each other, gargoyles," added the white man, trying to be helpful. "King Kamehameha wishes to establish a united kingdom, where _both_ our races can live in harmony. Join his armies, and you'll never have to worry for your clan again."

"You and the _'Aikake_ spoke the same words a week ago. Honua wanted no part of them," Makani told the foreigner, seeming to recognize his face. "And trust me…she does _not_ change her mind lightly."

"Before, his emissaries were two _hāʻole._ Ones of rank, perhaps, but _hāʻole_ all the same. Far from the proper respect due your noble race," said the woman. "But now Queen Ka'ahumanu speaks to you – daughter of Keʻeaumoku Pāpaʻiahiahi and Nāmāhāna'i Kaleleokalani; she of the feathered mantle; she in whom the ancient bloodlines of Māui and Hawai'i are joined. And tonight, she makes you this promise: that if you ally with my husband, you and your children will be protected for all time."

"And for those of you who haven't met me, I'm John Young," spoke the white man, attempting a genial smile. The effect it had on his sallow face was rather unpleasant. "You know, if I didn't know better…I'd swear you were Scottish stock."

He directed these words at Brooklyn, though he was also looking upon his fellow travelers with evident interest.

"I…err…get that a lot," he remarked evasively. One of the key pieces of info he'd been steadfastly avoiding was the date the last clan in Scotland went extinct, and he had a bad feeling they were brushing up against just that. "Honestly, kinda surprised you know enough to make that sort of judgment."

"I'm a sailor by trade. One can't help but pick up a few things," said Young. Again, he was smiling with a face that simply didn't seem _built_ for it. "Still, beak aside…it's obvious your clan isn't from around here. Did you travel from a neighbor island?"

"Something like that," murmured Zafira, crossing her arms.

Next, the Englishman turned to Māui, his beady eyes bugging out for just a moment at the sheer _size_ of the demigod. "As for you, I don't believe we've been introduced," he stated, offering a pale hand. "To whom does your allegiance lie, warrior?"

"To _all_ men. And to _no_ single one," he answered sternly, not accepting the handshake. It was probably just as well, given that Māui's fist was at _least_ twice the size of Young's. "Not a big fan of _any_ of the guys vying for this island right now, to tell the truth."

"I suppose I can appreciate your… _honesty,_ " said Young, his mouth becoming a thin line. "If not necessarily your judgment. In war, no one suffers more than the man in the middle."

Māui narrowed his eyes. "Thanks for the words of concern," he muttered. "But I think I can handle myself, buddy."

"We appear to be getting sidetracked," Ka'ahumanu cut in, frowning. "Whoever you are, warrior, we did not come for _you._ Our duty is to strike a bargain with the _Nawao_ leader, and strike a bargain we shall. Take me to speak with her, if you would."

"I'm not sure that's such a…well, I mean…the thing is…" mumbled Makani, struggling to regain her footing. "It's…not exactly a good time, right now. Our clan was…was just attacked, and…"

"All the more reason to shore up your alliances!" Young exclaimed, seizing upon the opening. "Really, you roost so far away. If your clan might consider moving closer to Kawaihae…"

"Even _if_ I thought that was a good idea – which I don't – you're wasting your breath," said Māui. "You heard Makani. Honua doesn't change her mind about stuff like this, and she never will. If we…err, I mean, the _Nawao_ …want to be left alone, then why can't you just _accept_ that? It's just like what she was saying to Keōua…"

The demigod abruptly stopped talking. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done.

"When did _you_ get a chance to trade words with that overgrown fly-eater?" demanded the queen, her voice a harsh hiss. "Has he been here as well? Answer me!"

Makani instinctively shrunk back at the harshness of her tone, whimpering, "W…We didn't…I mean…"

"We saved his life yesterday, when Pele was about to bury him and seventy-odd warriors in ash," Māui interjected, rescuing the poor girl from her own flailing tongue. "He asked us the same question you just did, and Makani gave him a big fat _no._ End of story. Happy?"

Far from being assuaged, however, Young and Ka'ahumanu turned to each other, concern etched in their faces. "It seems your suppositions were…somewhat inaccurate, 'Olohana," she said, crossing her arms.

"I couldn't possibly have predicted gargoyle interference. Certainly not on _his_ behalf," he attempted to argue back, though a bit weakly. Then, he turned back to the gargoyles, the lines in his face growing harsher. "Still…I'm disappointed a race as wise and storied as yours would choose sides so poorly."

"We weren't trying to choose sides!" exclaimed Makani, sounding increasingly frantic. "If it'd been Kamehameha's warriors in danger, we still would've…!"

But Young just shook his head. "I wish I could believe you. But I guess it doesn't really _matter_ if it was intentional or not," he told her. "Either way, His Majesty marches now to snuff out Keōua's resistance once and for all. If his main battalion still lives, that… _complicates_ things."

"Why must you seek each other's destruction in the first place?" asked Zafira, directing her words at the queen. "Far be it from _me_ to shy away from a fight, but your island is so small…and your people so few. Why tear it apart over these petty squabbles?"

The Englishman's frown deepened.

"There's more at stake here than just the egos of two chiefs. _Far_ more," he said, reaching down to grab a handful of dark-gray sand. It sifted gradually through his fingers, swept up by the cool night breeze. "These islands stand at a crossroads. One leader will bring them into a new and brighter future. The other would drag them feet-first into the grave."

"Keōua believes that if he simply buries his head in the sand long enough, the _hāʻole_ will eventually go away," added Ka'ahumanu. "My husband understands that things have changed. It _cannot_ be as it once was. Either we take our rightful place on the stage of the world…or we stand still, and perish."

"I see potential in these isles. A kingdom that could be as grand as Britain or France. Certainly, it's as worthy a 'nation' as Washington's rabble," spoke Young, his eyes briefly glistening. "But King George, Louis, Charles – they'll never take these people seriously, until they're united as _one._ By force, if necessary."

"That's a tune I've heard lot of people sing over the years," Brooklyn murmured. "And it never seems to end very well."

"Your concern is noted. But also unappreciated. Not when there are far more pressing matters to address," declared the queen, revolving her rotund arm toward one of the warriors that'd accompanied the pair. "You…take a message to my father. He must advise my husband to hold off his attack, until we are _certain_ of Keōua's numbers."

The warrior bowed low, but made no other acknowledgement of the order; his ability even to _speak_ in the presence of a queen was extremely limited.

Instead, with no further preamble, he climbed back into the canoe and – with some difficulty, given that he was now working it alone – set sail back into the open sea, to better travel around the island.

"Doesn't that leave you three stranded here?" asked Benny after a lengthy pause, one eyebrow ridge raised in confusion.

"As I told you: _far_ more pressing matters," said Ka'ahumanu, the edge in her voice sharpening noticeably. "Now, cease stalling. I _will_ see this 'Honua.' And I will see her _now._ "

"And if we refuse?" Māui responded, before anyone could stop him. His expression matched hers line for line.

For a second, nothing happened. Then the queen raised herself up to full height and strode over to the demigod, staring him directly in the eye.

Though she was scarcely more than _half_ his height, somehow, he didn't look like the most intimidating party in the standoff. Not by a _longshot._

"You do not wish to know the answer to that question," she whispered dangerously, before turning toward Waimanu Valley and beginning to march forward.

Brooklyn had a bad feeling she wasn't wrong about that.

[-]

"I want my displeasure with this outcome noted for the record," said Zee, as they glided above the treetops spread throughout the valley.

"Wait, was somebody supposed to be writing this stuff down?" asked Brooklyn. "Because full disclosure: I haven't been. Like, at all."

"I keep an… _abridged_ record of the time periods we visit. Dates and locations at least, where possible," Benny replied, patting at his satchel and sighing. "And no, my love, I'm not especially pleased either. But it may well be the only way to minimize further bloodshed."

The trio were gliding, along with Makani, back toward her clan, to give Honua advance warning of the approaching delegation. They had a fairly good idea what her reaction was likely to be, but leaving it a surprise could _only_ make it worse.

Meanwhile, Māui had "volunteered" to guide John Young, Ka'ahumanu, and their remaining bodyguard to the roost, alongside the beasts. The forest that stretched across most of the valley wasn't especially treacherous, but it _was_ very easy to get lost in – contributing to the clan's cherished isolation.

They'd separated about ten minutes prior, and unfortunately Makani had spent most all that time being even mopier than usual.

"This is all my fault…" she said quietly, her words only barely audible over the rushing wind. "Honua was right. All I did by saving those humans was make things _worse._ "

"That's _her_ talking, not you," insisted Brooklyn, gliding to her side and reaching out an arm, attempting to clap her on the shoulder. But she instinctively shifted away from his claw, and he withdrew it just as quickly. "Whatever might've happened afterward…saving those people _was_ the right thing to do. You know it. I know it. Hell, I think even _Honua_ knows it – she's just too stubborn to say so."

"And what if those seventy men wind up dying in the war, _anyway?_ " she demanded, her beak shaking slightly. "What if each of them kills one of Kamehameha's men in turn? Then I've just doubled the body count. Maybe _tripled_ it. All to buy some warriors a couple extra nights…"

"You can't think of it that way," answered the Scottish gargoyle. "You can only judge your actions in the moment. _Trust_ me…you don't wanna go down that kind of path. Trying to foresee everything. You'll go mad inside a week."

"I intend no offense…" Makani muttered, directing her vision at the trees below. "But that sounds like _extremely_ poor advice."

Brooklyn didn't really have a good rebuttal to that.

There was a lengthy silence, as Makani's focus turned increasingly inward, before Benuthet finally cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"I'm unfamiliar with the lore of these islands," he said. "Could you tell me more about this 'Māui' figure? He is, in essence, a hybrid of all three races – spiritually, if not biologically. I've never encountered such a thing in my studies."

"I doubt there's _ever_ been anybody like Māui," spoke the tattooed gargoyle, a breathlessness in her voice. "For as long as he's been around, he's always fought for mortals. Looked out for us. Some stories say he even sailed alongside us, when we left Hawaiki."

She shook her head. "He isn't like the other _akua,_ that's for sure," Makani continued on. "Most of them are capricious, violent. Sure, once in a while an _individual_ human or _Nawao_ might capture their favor…but Māui's the only one who never asks for anything in return. The only one who's never abandoned us. Well…never abandoned the _humans,_ at least."

Bitterness and resentment sounded utterly _strange_ coming off her tongue, but it was clear she meant every word.

"What do you mean by that?" Zee voiced the question they were all thinking. "What exactly happened between your clan and this demigod?"

"Māui is…a Trickster," Makani stated slowly. "The stories of his exploits are _filled_ with tricks he played on the heavens – always on our behalf. He and his brothers fished up these islands from the ocean floor, so we'd have a place to flee to after Hawaiki sank. He stole the secret of making fire from the _'alae,_ and passed it onto us. He stood against his own _family_ by pushing the sky and the land farther apart, so we wouldn't be crushed."

"I've dealt with a few Tricksters before," said Brooklyn, with an understanding nod. "Even the best of them can be kinda… _fickle._ "

"It wasn't that. If anything, it was because he was too _eager,_ " added the Hawaiian gargoyle, shaking her head again. "They say that on Hawaiki, the days and nights were precisely the same length. It was a land for humans and _Nawao,_ so we shared it equally."

Makani ran a claw through her hair as she thought up her next words, as if unsure quite how to phrase them.

"I…don't know what made him do it. Maybe he took pity on the humans. Back then, they were so much weaker than we were…worse at finding food, worse at finding shelter," she attempted to explain. "So he got an idea. He asked his mother for some plant fibers, and wove them together with the hair of his sister-wife, Hina. Eventually, he created a net big enough to capture the sun."

"That…sounds like a bad idea," responded Brooklyn, crossing his arms and frowning. "Like holey-moley- _crappoley_ levels of bad idea."

"I mean, he didn't intend to _keep_ it," she said, as if it was obvious. Which, on second thought, he supposed it probably _was,_ given that the sun was clearly still rising. "What he _did_ do was tie it up, force it to the ground, and beat it senseless with his grandmother's magic jawbone. Until it finally gave in and did what he wanted: slowing down its daily journey through the sky. Now the nights would be shorter than the days."

"Something that would've been considered a great boon for humans," Zee realized aloud. "But a death-sentence for _couatls._ "

Benuthet, for his part, looked almost physically ill. "My apologies," he murmured, his body tensed and mouth partially agape. "But this story sounds very different to Egyptian ears. To treat the solar barge of Ra in such a way…"

One of Makani's eyebrow ridges rose slightly. "It's so very strange," she remarked. "You three use so many odd words for things…by the _Mo'o,_ you even call _yourselves_ something different. Yet you call the sun by its proper name – _Lā._ "

"Ra," said Benny automatically.

Her ridge climbed still further. "That's what I just said," replied the tattooed gargoyle. " _Lā._ "

"Let's not start this again," Zafira groaned, gliding in between Makani and her mate to forestall any further linguistic confusion. "Especially as it appears we've arrived."

With one scarlet arm outstretched toward the clearing they'd left several hours prior, the former pendant-bearer led them in a sharp dive, ending the discussion there. Brooklyn was the last one left among the high winds.

"Sooooo…guess we're _not_ gonna talk about 'his grandmother's magic jawbone'?" he asked of the empty air. He waited a few seconds for a nonexistent reply. "Alright. Got it."

Then, he dipped his wings and followed along.

[-]

Meanwhile, the party on the ground was proceeding… _somewhat_ less smoothly.

Māui prided himself on a lot of stuff – it was kinda his _thing_ – but patience wasn't really one of them. Nor were the insane social structures humans always seemed obsessed with.

Oddly enough, though, that _wasn't_ the source of friction. Though he made no effort whatsoever to lower himself to the queen's height, Ka'ahumanu made no comment of that fact, walking beside both Young and the demigod as if they were all equals. Only her commoner guard was left a few steps behind, accompanied by the growling gargoyle beasts and trying _very_ hard not to urinate through his loincloth.

No…the issue was simply how mind-numbingly _boring_ their trek was proving. After a dozen-plus lifespans of gliding to and from this valley, returning to the clan on foot felt like trying to hop somewhere without legs.

Much as he liked them both, he had to admit his gargoyle form was _way_ more useful than his human form at times like these.

He'd never been good at dealing with boredom, and the only avenue available to occupy himself – making conversation with the queen and the sailor – was something he wanted to deal with even _less._ They were both clearly of the inquisitive sort, and that was something he _definitely_ didn't need right now.

But after a good hour or so of leading the humans through the dense greenery, his own restlessness became too much to bear, and Māui found himself turning to the young woman.

"You seem awfully comfortable performing a mission like this personally," he said. "Isn't the way we're traveling breaking _kapu_ in, like…twenty different ways?"

"I set store by the _kapu_ system when it is useful," answered Ka'ahumanu, her tone muted. "And leave it be when it is not."

"That's a very… _interesting_ perspective for royalty to take," spoke the demigod, putting it _very_ mildly. Out of anyone else's mouth, words like those would've warranted instant death. "I wonder if your husband knows how you feel about that."

"And I wonder why someone so uncomfortable answering questions…asks so many of them," the queen whispered coolly.

Māui opened his mouth to answer that, paused for a moment, then closed it back shut. He had to admit – she had a good point.

"As I told your _Nawao_ friends, our kingdom has the potential to become something _much_ greater than it is," she went on, in the face of his dumb silence. "Many of our traditions are what have brought us this far, and should be preserved. But others…"

Ka'ahumanu folded her fingers together, looking pensive, but did not elaborate further.

"If you will not tell us your name or purpose, there's still one other thing I'd like to ask," said John Young, picking up the slack without wasting a moment. "What is your relationship with this gargoyle clan? I was under the impression they lacked human friends."

The demigod weighed his options for a moment as he stared down the beady-eyed Englishman, before deciding to throw him a bit of a bone. Besides, his reaction might prove to be illuminating; Māui was almost _certain_ the boatswain knew more than he was letting on.

"Nobody said I was human," were the words he finally elected to share, cracking his neck as he did. To emphasize the point, he allowed his _kākau_ to glow a brief blue, though he didn't transform.

Still, with no further explanation offered, he had to wonder just what must've been going through the three humans' minds – the foreigner in particular. But while the warrior seemed quite shocked, from what little Māui could make out between the slats of his gourd helmet, the queen's expression remained cool and impassive. And as for Young…

He was _smiling._

"I thought so. Or at least I was fairly sure," he murmured. "My parents were Scots, you see. Grew up on tales of the Fair Folk. Or whatever they deign to call you in a place like this."

Well…if nothing else, Māui _definitely_ had confirmation on his "knows more than he's letting on" theory.

Not that he had any clue what to do _next,_ now that he had it. Forward-thinking had never exactly been his strong suit.

He was saved from having to think up a suitably noncommittal response, however, as the two gargoyle beasts suddenly began to bark, quite forcefully. A second later, the cause of their alarm reached Māui's ears as well: a steady, rhythmic sound, slowly approaching.

The beating of war-drums.

But there was a quality to it that surely ruled out an attack by Kamehameha or Keōua – or _any_ living chief, for that matter. Every drumbeat seemed to _begin_ as an echo, a shadow of something long-gone, and only grew dimmer as it reverberated.

Māui swallowed. There was nothing else it could possibly be.

"Get down on the ground. _Now,_ " he ordered hastily, his voice halfway between a whisper and a shout. For the beasts, he waved a hand across their snouts, channeling the magic of his Third Race side into a simple sleep spell – the easiest way to make sure _they_ complied as well. "That means you too, queenie. They're not gonna care about your rank any more than _you_ seem to."

Neither Ka'ahumanu nor Young hesitated to obey, dropping down next to the now-drowsing gargoyle beasts, though the latter looked understandably bewildered. The native queen, however, stared knowingly into Māui's deep-yellow eyes, as her lips slowly formed two words:

" _Huaka'i Pō._ "

The demigod nodded gravely.

"I'd be honored, my queen, by an explanation," said Young, his entire body tensed up as he directed his gaze resolutely at the warm dirt. "I've learnt much of your language these last few months, and I believe the latter word means 'night.' But the former is unfamiliar to me."

"In your tongue, it would translate to 'Night Marchers.' The spirits of fallen warriors…so loyal to their _ali'i,_ that they follow him even in death," she answered tonelessly. "But I've never known them to march in _this_ valley."

Now that Māui thought about it, that was indeed rather strange – and more than a little disturbing. _Huaka'i Pō_ usually clung to the battlefields where they'd died, endlessly reliving their final moments. But so far as he was aware, no human had _ever_ waged war in Waimanu Valley.

A moment later, however, he realized something that disturbed him a great deal _more._

"Get down, you idiot!" he shouted at the masked warrior, now the lone one still standing. "They'll be here any second!"

But the man seemed completely paralyzed, his body tensed with overwhelming terror. "They…They're coming for me…" he mumbled, all semblance of honor or dignity flooding out of him all at once. "Like they came for my father…and _his_ father…"

"Not if you keep your head on straight!" said Māui, grunting in irritation as he tried to pull the warrior down with a single, broad hand. But the man, now fully in the grips of panic, dodged away, clutching at himself and panting heavily. "C'mon, just… _let_ …me…"

He wasn't able to finish his sentence, however. It was too late.

Hastily, Māui's own eyes shot back down to the ground, the moment he caught a glimpse of the first Marcher's approach. There was no helping the poor kid now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just barely see the warrior's left foot, trembling in place as he tried and failed to back away. Then, a moment later, the foot abruptly froze.

Māui swallowed, hard. He knew what was going to happen next.

Slowly, piece by piece, the foot became translucent, fading away from this world in substance but keeping nearly all of its color and vibrancy. Then, as the war drums hit a fever pitch, the warrior began to step forward…

Fully in time with the beat.

For that was the fate of all who met the gaze of the _Huaka'i Pō_ – to join in their procession until the end of time.

With their eyes directed downward and their bodies supplicating before the spirits, the rest of them were most likely safe, but Māui preferred not to take chances. Careful to avoid moving his face, he slowly reached into his waistband and placed two items before him: a bunch of bananas, and a sweet potato.

The _kinolau_ of Kanaloa and Lono; the gods of death and peace. It was an improvised offering – and one he'd been carrying around in his loincloth for a couple of nights – but it'd have to do.

Māui closed his eyes and perked up his ears, waiting to hear the Marchers stride forward and accept the gift. Or, at worst, to continue on, satisfied with the prize they'd managed to add to their band.

What he _didn't_ expect was to hear was a heavy foot stomping his offering into mush.

Mouth hanging low from the blasphemy, the demigod almost didn't react in time as semisolid arms wrapped around his and forcefully pulled him to his feet. Panicking, he reached for the only thing he could think of to protect himself…and began to change forms.

With his shapeshifting far below the threshold of a full Child, Māui could only choose his features at the moment he changed species, so he quickly picked one of his disguises from about four hundred years prior.

During his time with the clans of Polynesia, he'd been young and old, fat and skinny, even female a time or two – but this guise had one advantage the others didn't.

When the lead Marcher finally hauled Māui up to face him, he was instead greeted by a grizzled old _Nawao_ who was a deep shade of charcoal-gray, maybe _half_ the height of "Awāwa" or his human form…and also completely, 100% blind.

"Appreciate all the love, but I'm gonna have to ask for my personal space back," he said, his voice now deepened by several tones. "Otherwise, people could talk."

He wasn't sure what he expected out of the Marcher before him – one he could sense must be only a foot or two away, despite being unable to see. But he certainly knew what he _didn't_ expect.

Which was for the Night Marcher to let out a slow, hitched gasp of recognition, and whisper, " _Tele'a…_ "

Right then and there, no matter how bad of an idea it was, Māui wanted nothing more than to shift back to a form with working eyes, and look upon the spirit's face. Because he recognized _him_ too.

"It…It _can't_ be…" choked out the demigod, utterly breathless. "Afi…it's you, isn't it? But…how? How can you be _here?_ You…You died on Tonga…"

" _We march where we must,_ " said the spirit, and Māui knew at once that he hadn't been wrong. This was the last leader of the Tongan Clan, speaking to him from beyond the grave.

A gargoyle who'd been like a brother to him.

"I didn't even know gargoyles could join the _Huaka'i Pō,_ " Māui responded, very quietly. "I was at your Wind Ceremony. You…should be at rest…"

" _There is no rest any longer,_ " hissed Afi – or what remained of him. " _Not here. Not anywhere. The Gates have been breached._ "

"The 'gates'? Afi, you're not making any sense," the demigod murmured. "Unless… _no._ "

His unseeing eyes went wide.

" _That's_ how you're here. How you've been called back," he continued, beak clenched in horror. "The Dances…they must be…"

The dead gargoyle let out a low, rattling breath, before punctuating it with a single cold, raspy word:

" _Crumbling._ "

Māui's shoulders sagged, as he let the realization wash over him. It'd been so obvious, and yet he'd _missed_ it. All the pieces fit.

But it still wasn't too late to _do_ something about it.

"Thanks for the hint, old friend," he said, meaning every word. "I'm gonna go make sure what happened to our clan… _doesn't_ happen to my new one."

The trickster then moved to turn around, grab Young and Ka'ahumanu and haul them up so they were facing away from the _Huaka'i Pō,_ and set back out for their roost at a brisk run. They no longer had any time to waste, after all.

But the Marchers didn't release their semisolid grip.

"Hey…Hey, what gives?" demanded Māui, struggling harder to yank his arms away from theirs. But despite their spiritual existence, the ghosts' strength was more than a match for his.

" _I am sorry, Tele'a. Or whatever your true name might've been,_ " spoke his former leader, his every utterance as mournful as a funeral dirge. " _But He cannot permit you to interfere._ "

"He?!" Māui repeated, as he felt his blood chill to ice. Somehow, simply by the tone of voice, they both _knew_ who they were referring to. " _He_ is the enemy of every human and gargoyle on the planet! The bringer of plague and ruin! The origin of all evil!"

" _He is all these things, and more,_ " said Afi. " _But He is also our Master. And it is our duty…_ "

The spirit slowly placed a single, ethereal claw across Māui's face, as the Marchers' drumming quickened to the point that it was nearly deafening.

" _To bring Him what He desires._ "

When the claw pulled away, Māui found himself blinking…before realizing, belatedly, what that _meant._

Because between blinks, he was now staring upon a mixed array of human and gargoyles alike, their dress and tattoos marking their origins all across the Pacific.

And now…he was in their power.

John Young and Queen Ka'ahumanu wisely kept their heads down as the _Huaka'i Pō_ returned to their march – their hundredfold footsteps reluctantly joined by two more.

[-]

"Before we see Honua…I have just one request," said Makani as they landed, just beyond the limits of the clan's protectorate. "I want you to let _me_ do the talking."

"About how you kinda sorta promised her an audience with a couple humans about their big bad war scheme?" Brooklyn replied, frowning deeply. "Yeah, no. I'm not letting you take that on by yourself. At least if it comes from _us,_ it'll sound like neutral advice from a third party."

But Makani slowly shook her head as she stared forward in determination – despite her obviously trembling claws. It wasn't clear whether the latter undercut or _enhanced_ the former.

"I know she's going to get mad. I know she's probably going to hurt me," stated the tattooed gargoyle. "But that's okay. That's just the role I play. It's the role I've _been_ playing all my life."

"That's horrible," muttered Zafira, teeth slightly bared. "What do you even _mean_ by that?"

Makani simply turned to her with a small, sad smile. "Why do you think you've never seen Honua hit any of my brothers or sisters?" she asked, pushing past the time travelers without another word.

Honua, it transpired, was hard at work alongside three other warriors, removing wreckage from the pit where the clan cooked its meats. Despite her _numerous_ personal failings, if Brooklyn had to give her credit for one thing, she _definitely_ wasn't lazy.

The clan leader's eyes narrowed as she noticed them approach. "I don't remember giving you permission to return," she said, not pausing in her labors.

"I couldn't afford to wait for it, Mother. Not with everything else that's going on," Makani answered coolly, surprising just about everyone. The confident, smooth tone with which she delivered those words was a stark contrast from her earlier demeanor.

Upon closer inspection, from the way her beak and fingers were still trembling, Brooklyn could tell it was mostly a front. But a convincing one, to an undiscerning eye.

"Watch your tone with me, Makani," hissed Honua, responding in kind. "Now, what do you and these strangers _want?_ In case you haven't noticed, the clan's a little busy at the moment."

Makani's wings tensed up slightly, as she tried to come up with the best way to put all this. "We have… _guests_ on their way, Mother," she finally told her rookery mother. "Human guests."

The clan leader's eyes immediately flashed red. " _What…?_ " she whispered dangerously.

"Please let me finish, Mother," said Makani, holding up a muscular claw to forestall her. "We don't really have a choice. Kamehameha's sent representatives again, including his own queen. We turn them away, and he just might take that as a declaration of war."

She placed her hands together and stepped forward, taking on an imploring, supplicating tone.

"I beg you, Mother. For the good of our clan – the good of your children," the Second continued on. "At least _listen_ to them. If you want to turn them away _after_ you've heard them out, that's your right as leader. I think I'd probably even agree. But it can't hurt just to _talk._ "

Benuthet sidled up next to his friend, observing the exchange with scholarly interest. "Notice how she starts off every statement with 'Mother.' An appeal to emotion," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. "A clever tactic…but one I'm not sure will work here."

"She knows Honua far better than we do," his mate pointed out. "She hasn't done much to earn the benefit of my doubt…but _Makani_ has. Let's trust she knows what she's doing."

And indeed, much to Brooklyn's shock, the orange gargoyle actually seemed to be _considering_ this. Her attentions were clearly turned inward, her posture distant and distracted as she mulled over her Second's words.

Finally, after nearly a full minute of silence, she turned back to Makani and asked, her voice low, "They're already on their way?"

"Awāwa is leading them on foot through the forest," said the muscular gargoyle, letting out a deep sigh of relief; that Honua hadn't utterly _exploded_ was, for the moment, a victory she was willing to take. "At the pace we last saw them, I estimate they'll arrive in ten or fifteen minutes at most."

Honua sighed as well, though more out of weariness than anything else. The process of rebuilding had, it seemed, taken most of the fight out of her.

"Then I will meet these humans. _Briefly,_ " she declared, before turning her sharpest glare back upon her Second. "But I want you _far_ away when I do. That will be all, Makani."

Those words appeared to wound the tattooed gargoyle just as sharply as a physical blow – if not more so. "You…You don't want me to…" she mumbled, hurt.

"Makani, please. Don't waste my time," snapped Honua. "We both know you're an abysmal negotiator. You're so eager to please, you'd cave into their demands before they could finish a sentence."

"Th…That's not…" Makani tried to argue back, but her leader cut her off simply by raising a claw.

"I don't think you understand what I'm telling you, Makani," she said, her tone acidic. "I'm giving you a chance to walk away from this. I _highly_ suggest you take it."

"Honua, with due respect…" spoke up a yellow, pot-bellied gargoyle as he walked up to them, wringing his hands nervously. "It's tradition for the Second to sit in during any meetings with leaders of other clans. Even human ones."

"When I want your input, Uila, I will _ask_ for it," Honua replied bitingly. "Until then, get back to surveying the area. I want the eggs removed from any infected trees."

"Hold on…'infected'? What's going on, Mother?" asked Makani, her voice tightening out of concern.

Honua snarled something under her breath; perhaps a Hawaiian curse word the Phoenix couldn't translate.

"That's none of your business," she said.

But Makani seemed emboldened again – at least, enough to keep pressing forward. "So long as you insist on keeping me your Second, of _course_ it's my business," she told her leader. "This is my clan too. If something's affecting the trees, I need to know."

The orange gargoyle glared at her for several moments, her teeth gritted. Then, wordlessly, she beckoned Uila forward.

His shaking hands produced a couple of coconuts, split down the middle, and as the travelers took a closer look Brooklyn forced down the urge to vomit.

The insides had rotted, but not in any way that appeared natural. Rather, the creamy white flesh of the fruit had taken on the color and consistency of blackened sand, growing coarser and uglier the closer one drew to the core.

"It's spreading. And getting worse by the night," said Honua, ruffling her tattered wings in irritation. "Hence why I don't have time to deal with your messes right now, Makani. You want to help? Figure out why this is happening. Figure out how to stop it. I doubt you'll succeed…but it's not like you've got anything _better_ to do."

Again, Makani frowned out of hurt, looking downcast. But it lasted for only a few seconds before purpose flooded into her face, hardening it. "I won't let you down, Mother," she responded.

"I doubt that very much," drawled the clan leader, returning her frown with a far crueler, nastier one. "But I suppose there's no harm in letting you try…so long as you and your friends stay _out_ of my way."

Honua made to storm away, toward a pile of detritus that'd once been apparatus for weaving clothing. But she stopped short after just a single step.

"Oh, and one more thing…" she added quietly, still facing away from the younger gargoyles.

Then, without further warning, her claw whirled back to slash Makani across the face. Without turning around to aim, the strike only grazed her, but her Second still winced from the stinging pain.

" _Never_ speak to me that way again."

[-]

"I'll admit that even _I'm_ starting to reconsider the wisdom of giving her a good kick in the face," said Benuthet, as his mate finished cleaning up Makani's bloody wound.

"Most of these plants are unfamiliar to me. But some are at least _similar_ to the forests of my home," Zafira explained, as she finished applying a large leaf to the affected area. "It isn't much, but it should hold until sunrise."

Makani, for her part, just turned slightly red as Zee's smooth hands ran over her face, in a way that had _nothing_ to do with her recent injury.

"Th…Thank you so much," she stuttered, voice sounding just a bit raspier than usual. "But like I said…I'm used to it. Usually I just splash some water on it and get back to what I was doing."

"Just because you're _used_ to it doesn't make it okay," Brooklyn stated pointedly, crossing his arms and sighing.

"I didn't say it was okay," replied Makani, as she rose to her feet and stretched her wings. "But we have more important things to worry about right now. Let's get moving, before it gets too close to sunrise."

"Do we have any leads?" asked Benny, studying the ruins of the coconut next to an equally diseased banana. "Based on cursory observation, I'd say this bears the mark of some kind of curse – likely generated by a member of the Third Race. But I'd need more information to divine anything further."

"Only that it seems to be affecting a wide variety of plants," the Hawaiian gargoyle said quietly, as she wandered about a more secluded part of the valley. This was clearly the place where they grew most of their non-meat foods – but it now resembled a ruined wasteland more than a fruit grove. "And all of them sacred. Coconut and banana trees, sweet potatoes, sugar cane…even our _kalo_ and _noni._ "

"Could this be related to whatever made those _menehune_ and beasts go berserk a few hours ago?" Zee offered up, examining some of the leaves and fruits in question more closely. "Perhaps they too were sick."

"It's… _possible,_ I guess," answered Makani with a frown. "All of the affected plants are _kinolau_ to one of the Four Great Gods – the _akua_ the humans think are responsible for creating the world. I think Māui said something about those specific animals being _kinolau_ of…well, I didn't catch the name…"

"Excuse me… _'kinolau'_?" Brooklyn repeated, confused. That was another word the Phoenix hadn't automatically translated, meaning there wasn't a precise equivalent in English – or if there was, he didn't know it.

"The body forms of a particular god," said Makani, attempting to clarify. "The humans of this island believe the _akua_ live in all sorts of things. For example, the chief of the gods, Kāne, has his own physical form. But he's _also_ embodied in the sunlight, the freshwater, the great birds, the _kalo._ When you ate it last night, as _poi,_ you were taking his body into yours."

"I'm…not sure how to feel about that," Brooklyn muttered dryly.

"Let's try a different tact," Benuthet cut in. "Is there anything that _isn't_ affected by this curse? If we assume my mate's theory on the creatures and _menehune_ holds true."

Makani's frown deepened as she thought this over. "Well… _us,_ " she eventually answered, gesturing awkwardly to the four of them. "No _Nawao_ have gotten sick. At least, as far as I know."

When none of them immediately reacted, the tattooed gargoyle hastily added, "Which could be important! You see…we're _also_ a _kinolau_ of Kāne. So are humans, for that matter. We all have a little piece of Kāne in us, deep down…that is, if you believe the stories."

Suddenly, looking as if she'd just remembered something, Makani stopped cold in her tracks, right in front of a large palm tree. Then, in a scene that turned halfway around to comical, she began to shimmy her four-hundred-pound body up into its branches.

A moment later she dropped back down, something large and rounded held within her arms. "Ah…good. Just wanted to be sure," she mumbled to herself.

The object was unmistakable, though a different color from any of the ones the travelers were used to.

"That's…a gargoyle egg," said Brooklyn, raising both eyebrow ridges. "You guys were storing an egg…up a _tree._ "

"Well, of course. Where _else_ would you put an egg?" asked Makani, shrugging her shoulders as she carefully turned the unhatched _Nawao_ over in her hands. "I'm glad…doesn't look like the infection has spread to it. Honua wants them all moved to new trees, just in case. But I guess whatever makes our kind immune extends to our children, too."

As she spoke, a number of things finally clicked in Brooklyn's mind. The panicked looks on the clan's faces as they'd checked the trees during the _menehune_ attack; Honua's unfamiliarity with the term "rookery daughter" earlier that night. The word didn't translate because they didn't _have_ rookeries on this island.

"Sorry, it's just that in every clan I've ever visited, they kept all the eggs together. It's usually called a 'rookery'…and yeah, I _know_ you probably just heard _'lukeli'_ or something," Brooklyn attempted to explain. "Ours was in a cave under a castle."

"Well, with due respect, that sounds…rather _silly._ Doesn't it?" returned Makani, looking confused. "If all your eggs are in the same place, the entire next generation could be wiped out at once. We separate and hide them, to ensure as many as possible survive."

Zafira looked askance at these words, but said nothing.

"I… _guess_ that makes sense. Even if it kinda screws up most of my clan vocab – not much ring to 'tree siblings,'" said Brooklyn. "But I think we're getting off-topic."

"Let me try to summarize, then," declared Benny, nodding toward his friend and stroking his false beard thoughtfully. "One of the Children – or _'akua,'_ as they call them here – is most likely responsible for a curse of great power. They can control their own…err, _kinolau,_ but can only sicken those of others. And, it seems, only up to a certain level of complexity."

His pronunciation, while strained, was all precisely correct. It was likely a side-effect of his training as a sorcerer, where one wrong syllable in a strange tongue could mean an exploded head.

"But a god whose body forms include lizards, insects, and predatory birds? I can't think of any _I've_ heard of," Makani informed the others, scratching at her long hair. "The closest is Milu, goddess of the dead. Giant lizards guard the entrance to her realm. But Māui was talking about a _brother_ earlier…"

"It's still closer than anything we've come up with so far," interjected Brooklyn. "Much as I don't like the sound of the phrase 'let's check out the land of the dead'…maybe this is something we _need_ to see."

"I…don't think it really works that way," Makani eventually said, though there was a noticeable pause before she spoke. "You need to follow the path there – the _Mahiki._ But only spirits can find it. Spirits, and…"

She abruptly stopped speaking, her beak gaping wide.

"There's another story about Māui's feats," she went on, now moving at a hurried jog. "It was supposed to be his greatest trick ever. After giving us mortals so many wonderful things, he decided there was only one left; the one thing that truly separated his two halves from each other."

Makani swallowed, hard, before whispering, "He tried to steal the secret of conquering death."

"That's _also_ a story I've heard more than a few times," Brooklyn told her, his legs working overtime to keep pace with her rather beefier ones. "And _also_ one that never, ever, _ever_ ends well."

"Whether it was a good idea or not, Māui challenged Milu for the boon of immortality – for humans and _Nawao_ alike," said the green gargoyle. "He entered her body, which _was_ the underworld, and tried to race the sun as it sailed across the sky. If he made it from one end of her realm to the other in a single day, and returned to the living world before sunset, she'd put a stop to death itself."

"I gather, then, that he failed in that particular endeavor," spoke Benny, his tone muted.

Makani nodded. "There're a few different versions of how the legend ends. I'm not sure which one is accurate…if any," she responded. "But either way, if he entered Milu's realm once he can do it again. We could at least find out what she knows."

"Speaking of which, where _is_ that halfling?" asked Zee, twisting her neck around. "Even on foot, he should've returned with the beasts and the humans by now."

"Hopefully, they didn't encounter any more of those mad creatures," Benuthet mused, grazing his cheek thoughtfully with his talon. "Māui can clearly handle himself in a fight, and I have no doubts in the capability of our _sha._ But I've less faith in the sailor or the queen."

"This 'Kamehameha' was clearly expecting a diplomatic mission, not a battle for survival," said his mate. "Had he realized the dangers, I'm sure he would've sent far more warriors."

"I dunno," murmured Brooklyn, joining the Mayan gargoyle in peering through the gaps in the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of their other party. "When you've been at this for as long as I have, you get an instinct for people who're, _well_ …more than meets the eye. And those guys are twigging my Decepticon radar _waaaaaaaay_ hard."

At this point, his two companions usually didn't bother to ask.

"Point is…" he added after a moment. "I've got a feeling those two can hold their own. Just a hunch…but it's a strong one."

Suddenly, a nearby grove of trees began to rustle. All four gargoyles instantly snapped to attention, and all but Makani reached instinctively for their blades. Caught without a weapon, she desperately grasped for a sharp stick on the ground, and held it between slightly shaking fingers.

A moment later, however, their concerns were put at ease as Fu-Dog and Kebechet darted out of the undergrowth. Moving at top speed and barking up a storm, they leapt the last ten feet or so and crashed into their respective masters, nuzzling affectionately.

But their relief was short-lived, as both beasts soon began to make whining sounds, high-pitched and keening. They'd returned alone, which could only mean one thing.

"Or…maybe I was just totally off base," said Brooklyn, petting his beast and groaning audibly.

[-]

"Okay, let's…let's not panic," Makani told the others as she paced, as if she hadn't been doing precisely that for the past five minutes. "Maybe they just got lost! There's nothing in the legends saying Māui is any good with directions!"

"My Kebechet would not have abandoned her charges unless absolutely _forced_ to," replied Benny, his tone more than a bit protective. "No, this is foul play at work. Someone, or some _thing,_ separated the ground group – probably to capture one or more of the others."

Makani abruptly stopped pacing, though she continued to wring her hands nervously.

"If that's true, that 'something' would have to be _incredibly_ powerful," she said, looking worried. "They say Māui is as swift as a coursing river; that he has all the strength of a raging fire. You saw him against those creatures on the beach – nothing short of a god would stand a _chance._ "

"Well, the way you described this guy…it kinda sounded like there weren't a lot of gods he _didn't_ piss off," Brooklyn pointed out. "Tricksters don't tend to be very popular with their bosses."

"You think another of the _akua_ might be behind this?" asked Makani in a low voice. "I suppose it's certainly a possibility, but…"

"Which leaves us with two mysteries," Zafira cut in, a shadow falling over her face. "Who is responsible for cursing your island…and who kidnapped your halfling friend. I'd be very surprised if the two answers aren't one in the same."

"That _does_ tend to square with how most of our adventures go. Can never just be _one_ thing," said Brooklyn with a sigh. "But without Māui, I dunno how we're supposed to find this _Mahiki_ thing. Which means we're back at square one."

Benuthet, who was now sitting at the base of a tree, turned his wand over and over in his hand, humming in thought.

"Clearly, this all comes back to the Children. Whether it's Milu or not, we must question _one_ of them," he eventually declared. "Are there any others we might be able to speak with? Who might have the pieces to this puzzle we lack?"

"Most of the _akua_ aren't…well, aren't exactly _easy_ to find," Makani answered him, slowly shaking her head. "They don't really hang around in one place because they can _be_ everywhere. Every dog is Kū; every pig is Lono. That means that when they want to, _they_ find _you_ …not the other way around."

"No favorite haunts at all?" asked Brooklyn, the corner of his mouth twinging. "Gotta be at least _one_ that stays put. Heck, at this point I'll take the god of violent and unnatural trash disposal."

He paused for a moment, his beak directed at the starry sky, before adding, "If there're any smartass chrono-buzzards watching, please note that that was _sarcasm._ Just to be clear."

Makani, on the other hand, seemed to have just realized something. "Now that you mention it…" she said, her voice quiet. "There is _one._ But I'm not sure talking to her would be such a good idea right now. She's…not exactly _stable._ "

"Where can we find this goddess you speak of?" demanded Zee, probably more forcefully than she'd been intending. They were all more than a little bit on edge.

"You've, err… _actually,_ already been there," Makani responded, nervously wringing her claws together for some reason. "It's right by where we first met."

"Hold on a moment," stated Benny, who was slightly quicker on the uptake than the others. "Are you saying that we'll be going to…?"

"Kīlauea. The mountain who spews greatly," she confirmed with a nod. "Home to she of fire, of lightning, of wind. She whose wrath creates the land, and then destroys it just as easily. She…the favored daughter of Kāne himself."

She exhaled deeply, as if steeling herself for her next words.

"The Volcano Goddess. _Pele._ "

[-]

 **Ka'ū Desert, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

In a makeshift grass tent, Keōua Kū'ahu'ula, once second in line to inherit dominion over the island of Hawai'i, tossed and turned fitfully.

This had not been a good week for him, by any stretch of the imagination. After taking advantage of Kamehameha's offensive on Māui to plunder his territory, the usurper's surprisingly quick victory – thanks mostly to the superior weapons of the _hāʻole_ – had forced Keōua to make a hasty decision.

Ultimately, he'd chosen to ambush the returning forces with his own, hoping their exhaustion from the bloody Battle of Kepaniwai would render them weak and easily routed.

But in terms of sheer numbers, the usurper's armies still outpaced his own, and their skirmishes in the forests of Pa'auhau succeeded only at bleeding heavy losses from both sides. Even his greatest victory, capturing one of the foreigners' cursed contraptions, proved futile; without the knowledge to use it, the wicked "kanān" was little more than a hunk of useless rock.

In the end, his options had been whittled down to two: stay and fight to the very last man, or retreat, and live to slay the usurper another day. And as tempting as the former was, Keōua wasn't stupid.

There was no point ruling this island if he lost all his supporters.

Unfortunately, the gods had clearly decided one humiliation was far from enough. In an effort to flee Kamehameha's more mobile troops, he'd elected to march straight along the caldera of Kīlauea. It was a calculated risk, but his _kahuna_ had assured him a bountiful offering would be enough to stay Pele's infamous temper.

Yet the moment they drew near, fruits and beautiful flowers in hand, the mountain had begun to rumble and shake, expelling smoke so thick it blotted out the moonlight. Its roar was like the cry of a vicious beast, enraged beyond belief.

Hurriedly, he'd divided his army into three groups, and left one behind to continue making offerings. But whatever the cause, Pele's madness would not be quelled.

More than a full day later, Keōua had still heard nothing of the other two groups. He could only assume they'd perished in the descending avalanche of ash.

A fate that would've claimed the _last_ third of his army…if not for the timely intervention of those _Nawao._

The chief clenched his fists as he continued to turn over restlessly along the ground. For reasons he couldn't quite put into words, the lead _Nawao's_ wishy-washy cowardice bothered him even _more_ than the usurper's outright opposition.

At least he could _respect_ Kamehameha as a fellow warrior, who fought his all to achieve his goals. Whatever else that slimy little worm was, he _was_ a worthy adversary.

But that foolish, oversized _nēnē?_ She was nothing like the valiant tales he'd heard as a child, of Kāne's personal honor guard – brave and strong and fiercely loyal. It was why their feathers were so cherished. To wear them was to take on their power; their sacredness.

True…it was _kapu_ to slay a _Nawao_ by one's own hand. This was something known to every man, woman, and child in Hawai'i.

Yet there was one, enduring exception to that law. The offering of blood, human or _Nawao,_ was distasteful to all but a single god: Kūkaʻilimoku, the lord of war. It was for _his_ glory that Keōua's half-brother Kīwalaʻō, heir apparent to their father's kingdom, had sacrificed a captured _Nawao_ warrior, creating from its wings a brilliant crimson cloak.

It'd been Keōua's idea originally, though that fact wasn't widely known. Kīwalaʻō, in truth, had been an incredibly weak chief, eager to please and afraid of conflict. But as the eldest son of King Kalaniʻōpuʻu by his highest-ranking wife, there was no question he would receive the bulk of their father's lands. Keōua had long since accepted this.

What he _couldn't_ accept was that the remainder of their father's inheritance – control of Waipi'o Valley, and guardianship over the worship of Kū – had been turned over, _not_ to his next-eldest son…

But to his nephew. The usurper. Kaleikini Kealiʻikui Kamehameha…or as he deigned to title himself, "The Great."

And Keōua? He received _nothing._

Kalaniʻōpuʻu, for whatever reason, had _always_ favored that wretched offspring of his half-brother, accepting the young Kamehameha into his court despite the grave warnings of his _kahuna._ According to rumor, Kamehameha's mother had hungered for a shark's eye while pregnant with the future king – a sure sign her child's destiny would be rife with bloodthirst and treachery.

The previous king, it was said, had even plotted to kill the baby, to ensure he could never become the chief-killer the fates foretold. But his mother managed to escape and raise him in secret, and after Kalaniʻōpuʻu overthrew his predecessor, he'd welcomed his sister-in-law and nephew back with open arms.

Kamehameha, in turn, had wasted little time proving their warnings true.

Even as a young man, he'd shown himself to be power-hungry and ambitious. Since ancient times, newborn chiefs had been tested upon the Naha Stone; so-named, because only those of the royal _Naha_ bloodline could pass its test.

An infant placed upon it who remained silent held the favor of the gods, and might one day wield the power to rule. But should the child cry out, all would know their blood to be impure – and they'd be cast out among the commoners, bearing that shame for the rest of their life.

No one had ever bothered to bring Kamehameha to the Naha Stone, for what would be the point? All knew the result already. Though he was related, distantly, his principal bloodline was the lower _Niu-pio._

Yet there was one other legend attached to the stone. A Prophecy.

It was said that whoever could lift the Naha Stone, would be destined to unite all the islands of Hawai'i into one. Since times long since forgotten, many had tried…but not one _Naha_ had ever succeeded.

Then, one day, along came Kamehameha – an arrogant whelp of a prince, of second-rate issue and second-rate blood. _He_ would try, he'd said, at only fourteen years of age.

Most in Kalani'ōpu'u's court had laughed off the proposal. Keōua imagined he'd have joined them, had he been born at the time (his cousin, despite being lower in rank, was twenty-six years his senior). He was barely more than a child, after all, who'd spent most of his life up to that point playing games with his mother's relatives.

But then…he'd done it. Everyone who'd been present told the story a little differently, but all agreed on the basic truth: that Kamehameha had, with his own two hands, overturned the Naha Stone.

And in so doing, overturned so many of the old ways.

Overnight, the _Niu-pio_ prince who'd once been ordered to die gained a great following. Many chiefs believed strongly in the power of the stone, and pledged their armies to bolster his. By the time Kalaniʻōpuʻu bore his own child, about ten years later, his nephew's support already rivaled his own.

It was no wonder, then, that the king wound up entrusting a significant portion of his holdings to Kamehameha. No doubt he'd hoped they would pacify the popular prince, and forestall any temptation to challenge the recently installed Kīwalaʻō.

The Waipi'o Valley, after all, was strategically and spiritually important territory. It'd once been the seat of power for the island's kings, up until about two hundred years prior, and still held the ancient grass palace of the legendary King 'Umi-a-Līloa. Its beach was a major hub for canoes and surfers, and its farms grew a great deal of the island's _kalo._

Not to mention that it was the closest point to the Waimanu Valley that was accessible to humans without a boat. And every _ali'i_ on the island knew what dwelt _there._

But clearly, Kalaniʻōpuʻu had underestimated his nephew's lust for power. Though he made no outward moves against his cousins, he continued to consolidate the support of commoners and chiefs alike, slowly expanding his sphere of influence beyond Waipi'o.

Kīwalaʻō _couldn't_ allow this to stand – or so his half-brother told him. The gods had already played a cruel joke, in the form of the Naha Stone. If he failed to act, Keōua argued, they would sense his weakness, and tear away his kingdom for sure.

The plan was simple. Kamehameha was the earthly guardian of Kūkaʻilimoku, and though the war god's _kinolau_ were many and varied, none were more sacred than the coconut tree.

So in the dark of the night, Keōua's men snuck into the Waipi'o Valley, and destroyed as many of the trees as possible. Several of Kamehameha's men were also killed in the scuffle.

When dawn came, Keōua was sure that Kū would look upon the usurper's failures, and _know_ he was unworthy. There was no greater shame than failing to protect that with which he'd been entrusted.

But there was one complication to the scheme. Midway through their rampage, the men were accosted by a mighty _Nawao,_ with a fat beak and bright red plumage. He considered the entire island his protectorate, he told them – and could no more allow them to continue brutalizing it, than stop breathing the air.

Still, though he was strong and swift, he'd made the mistake of coming alone. After a great struggle, the _Nawao_ was knocked unconscious until sunrise, and brought to Kīwalaʻō on a sled of lava rock.

At first, frightened of incurring Kāne's wrath, his brother had ordered the creature released. But Keōua urged him to reconsider. What better way to seize back Kū's favor…than to offer him a sacrifice the likes of which he hadn't tasted in _years?_

Thus, the famed crimson cloak of Kīwalaʻō was crafted. And when Kamehameha predictably launched an offensive against his cousins a year later, it was with that cloak upon his shoulders that Kīwalaʻō rode to meet him – finally, a king worthy of his father's title.

But unfortunately, the belated discovery of his courage did little for his martial skill. The Battle of Moku'ōhai was a bloodbath, as the half-brothers' combined armies were completely overwhelmed by the alliance united under Kamehameha's banner.

Eventually, the conflict ended with Kīwalaʻō himself executed by Kame'eiamoku, one of the chiefs loyal to the usurper. Keōua was forced to flee to Ka'ū with a small fraction of his original army, battered and humiliated.

The cloak, naturally, was seized by Kamehameha – who, to add insult to injury, now refused to even _wear_ his stolen spoils.

Which brought Keōua to where he was now. There was no denying that the tables had well and fully turned. Now _he_ was the one with barely any support, clinging to the last vestiges of land he had left. All his allies had died or abandoned him.

Even his uncle, Keawema'uhili – half-brother to Kalaniʻōpuʻu, and _ali'i nui_ of Hilo – who'd escaped with him after Moku'ōhai, had eventually given in and pledged fealty to the usurper. There was no longer any point, he'd told the prince, in denying the inevitable.

Now barely conscious, slipping away into the depths of slumber, Keōua found himself gritting his teeth.

No…he would _not_ accept that. He would _never_ accept that.

Even if every man, woman, and child stood against him…every _Nawao_ …the very threads of fate itself…

The usurper would _never_ fulfill that ridiculous Prophecy. _That_ was an oath, sworn to the gods.

 _And if he had to spill every last drop of blood on the island to stop him…_

 _Then so be it._

Keōua's mind was too close to drifting away to notice those last thoughts weren't his own.

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

At the same moment that Keōua Kū'ahu'ula finally drifted off to slumber, Honua of the Hawaiian Clan was struggling valiantly to keep her own eyes open.

Strictly speaking, gargoyle biology tended to void the need for any mid-night naps, but even by her standards she was absolutely _exhausted._ Since the very moment of sundown, she'd either been fighting for her life or cleaning up the aftermath, and with dawn still over three hours away, it was taking all her strength simply to stand upright.

Not that she let any of the _others_ know that, of course. A leader who showed weakness, even for a moment, wasn't going to be a leader for long. It was one of the things – the _many_ things – that Makani still _desperately_ needed to learn.

At the thought of her daughter, Honua felt the firewood she'd been gathering tumble out of her arms, landing painfully on her left foot. She came back to herself just in time to clamp down on a piercing screech, transforming it by sheer force of will into a muted growl.

Her eyes darting around to reassure herself that she was alone, the orange gargoyle quickly reached down and took back hold of the entire weight at once. The _last_ thing she wanted to do, while mentally berating Makani…

Was to acknowledge all the ways she was all too _similar_ to the foolish, klutzy girl.

She'd been weak, too, after all. Not for long, and not for _many_ years at this point…but there _had_ been a time when "Honua" and "frightened, pathetic wreck" would've gone together in a sentence like boats and sails.

It'd been a constant, _daily_ struggle to train herself out of her cowardice; her foolishness; all the things that would've surely _doomed_ their clan, had she not made the conscious effort to become strong. It was part of why she took such a heavy hand with Makani, she supposed – so that she wouldn't have to learn all those lessons the hard way.

The way she had.

The way she _still_ was.

After all, it'd only been eight years since the _last_ time a moment of weakness had cost her so dearly. Far beyond when she thought she'd closed the chapter on that part of herself, and yet…

Honua shook her head, trying to rid herself of those unwelcome remembrances. There was no _point_ in this – not now, not when she needed to prepare to meet those cursed humans.

But thinking about the royal family only made the flashes a million times _worse._ The firewood fell away again, completely forgotten, as her vision was overtaken with crimson.

" _I can see the destruction from here,"_ he was saying, as clearly and as full of conviction as on that night eight years ago. _"We can't just sit by. This is an attack on the 'āina herself!"_

" _That_ valley belongs to the humans!" she found herself shouting back, though whether she was actually speaking the words again or her memory was just _that_ vivid, she wouldn't have been able to say. "If they tear each other apart fighting over it, I say good riddance!"

" _You can't mean that, Honua,"_ he responded. She could see him, now, leaning against a nearby tree – a distressingly familiar expression of disappointment and hurt upon his face. _"The_ Nawao _I fell in love with knew that_ all _the island was our protectorate. It's our home. It's all we have left."_

"I won't risk my life to defend the humans from their own foolishness! I won't risk our _children's_ lives!" roared Honua. "And as for 'the island'…haven't you been paying attention? We've already _lost_ the island. Our kind's lost _all_ of them! The _hāʻole_ are just hastening the inevitable."

In both her remembrances and in real life, she stomped her foot into the dirt.

"There's no place for us in this world anymore," she continued on, voice low. "There hasn't been since Hawaiki sank beneath the waves. But if this valley is all we have left? Then by the _Mo'o,_ I _won't_ be giving it up without a fight. And _that_ fight is the one I'm saving my strength for."

His vision turned away from her. _"You know I'm still going, right?"_ he said. _"With or without you by my side. I just…I wish you'd reconsider. You and I…a few of our children, Awāwa and Kuahiwi and Makani at least…they wouldn't stand a chance. We could scare those cowards away without a single drop of blood."_

Honua's beak set into a nasty scowl, her sharp incisors bared in fury.

"Why do you always do this?!" she demanded, though there was a crack in her voice that hadn't been there eight years ago. For while she was still reciting the words from memory…she also knew _exactly_ where they led. "What if they hurt you? What if they…? _Argh,_ they're not worth it!"

Slowly, he turned to look at her again, with those beautifully, _terribly_ soft eyes. _"If I have to answer that…"_ he whispered. _"Then perhaps we don't really know each other at all."_

Her teeth gnashing, Honua fell to her knees, tears finally beginning to well up as the vision started to fade. His words had cut so deep, she'd given in – just _once_ – to weakness. She'd let him go, decided to trust he knew what he was doing.

He'd never returned.

Honua was left alone in the forest clearing for some time, weeping openly and hating herself all the while. She _couldn't_ dwell on past mistakes; only the weak did that. She _knew_ this.

Yet the tears wouldn't stop falling.

The orange gargoyle wasn't entirely certain how long she spent on the ground, fighting to get a hold of herself. But the next thing she knew, her ears had perked up at the telltale rustling of nearby bushes.

Furiously, she fought to clear her face of any evidence of her momentary breakdown, her eyes darting around the clearing for the source of the noise. It didn't take long to reveal itself, however, as two disheveled faces soon emerged from the brush.

Two _human_ faces.

The first, belatedly, she recognized. He was one of the _hāʻole_ who'd come to them several weeks ago, "requesting" the clan's help against Keōua. He looked quite a bit worse for wear, with leaves in his thick hair and dirt-stains all over his clothing, but it was certainly him.

Honua growled low. She'd told him and his partner "no" once, and she would do it again.

At least, that's what she'd thought…before she got a proper look at the second human.

It was a native woman, plump and stout, with curly black hair and intense eyes. But Honua barely glanced at any of those features. Because her own eyes were drawn, instantly, to the crown the woman wore atop her head.

A ringlet of feathers. _Crimson_ feathers.

Once again, that color was all she could see. Red like blood. Red like _him._

With a guttural screech, Honua roared to the sky, her entire world overtaken by that crown. And then, with claws extended…

She lunged.

[-]

Meanwhile, several yards away, the beak of her fallen mate curled into a magnificently cruel leer. It was an expression he'd certainly _never_ worn in life.

But considering he _wasn't_ her mate at all, that was to be expected.

" _Sometimes…_ " he said to himself, laughing quietly as he faded away from the corners of her vision.

" _I feel like this is just_ too _easy._ "


	4. Episode IV: Honaunau

_**Gargoyles: TimeDancer – Hawaiki – Episode IV: Hōnaunau**_

 _Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Gargoyles. All Gargoyles-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Disney, Greg Weisman, and Frank Paur._

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"Alright, this shouldn't be too hard," said Brooklyn, not entirely believing his own encouragement. "The other night, we got here from Kila-whoozitz in just a few hours. Now we've just gotta do the same thing in reverse."

"Except _that_ time, we had Awāwa…err, Māui with us," Makani pointed out, the rasp in her voice deepening. "I never really thought about it, but that glide _should_ take a lot longer. He must've been helping us all that time, in secret, with his magic. It's child's play for him to toy with the wind and sea."

"How far away _is_ it, exactly?" asked Benuthet, his expression quizzical.

"It's…well, it's like…I mean, I'm not really good at…" the tattooed gargoyle stammered, before finally throwing up her shoulders and dropping to the ground. "Maybe if I just…"

It took them a few seconds to realize what she'd decided to do. She'd grabbed a sharp stick from the underbrush and was now scratching it through the dirt in wide arcs. Eventually, however, it became clear what she was sketching.

A map of the island.

It was a little rough, but the shape _did_ more or less match what Brooklyn remembered from twentieth century maps of Hawaii. He didn't know _too_ much about the state, but he knew it was made up of a bunch of different islands, chained together in a sort of downward curving line.

Her drawing was clearly of the bottommost island – by far the largest, with an outline sort of like a weird curvy triangle. A circle indicated they were near the northernmost "tip," while their target was toward the southeast.

Even with the map clearly not to scale, the trip did _not_ look particularly short.

"This time of the year, without Māui to help, we're likely to be gliding right into a headwind," she said. "There's no way we're making it there before sunrise."

"We'll need to find a place to rest somewhere along the way, then. And continue our journey tomorrow evening," replied Zee. "Do you know of any good spots offhand?"

"I would've…if you'd asked me a year ago," Makani told her, looking somewhat downcast. "But the humans' civil war is slowly chipping away at the island's last few safe places. We'd need a place even _they_ wouldn't attack. Perhaps…"

Suddenly, she picked the stick back up and circled another location, on the island's west coast.

"The _pu'u honua o Hōnaunau._ If we hurry, we _might_ be able to make it there in time," she continued, tapping the stick nervously upon the ground. "It's a place of refuge, where even the worst criminals can be absolved of their sins. Spilling blood there would be unthinkable to the humans."

She paused, as if considering something, before adding quietly, "Well…to _these_ humans."

"Are you certain of that?" asked Benuthet. "Keōua did say something about Kamehameha not respecting 'the old ways,' as I recall."

"There's no doubt he's a less… _fervent_ believer than Keōua. But he'd lose most of his political support if he lost guardianship of the war god Kū," said Makani. "And attacking a _pu'u honua_ would do that for sure. War and peace – Kū and Lono – are two sides to the same stone. Brothers, twins. A crime against one disgraces the other."

"Guess we've gotta hope that'll be enough, then," Brooklyn remarked with a sigh. "Well, in that case…suppose there's no point in dawdling. C'mon, boy."

As he bent down to scoop Fu-Dog into his arms, however, Makani made a nervous little noise with the back of her throat.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, her voice squeaking slightly. "I didn't even _think_ about your companions when I was considering the trip. With them weighing two of you down – err, no offense – there's _definitely_ no chance at making it to Hōnaunau before dawn."

"In that case, one of us should stay here with them," responded Zafira.

"Benny definitely needs to be there, for all the magic biz. And obviously, Makani's playing the guide," said Brooklyn, absently scratching his beast behind the ear with one claw. "So that leaves me or you, Zee."

The Mayan gargoyle mulled things over for a moment, before turning to her mate. "I think it best then, my love, that I remain behind," she declared, her tone cool and confident. "There may be more clues still to uncover here, and I have greater experience at navigating rainforests."

She moved to stroke her claw through his mane, and Benuthet reciprocated immediately, running his five-fingered hand softly down her long black tresses.

Brooklyn couldn't help but notice the small smile on Makani's face as he watched this – mostly because it was the same plastered-on smile he'd worn at a certain Halloween party, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Alright…we'd better get moving," stated the Hawaiian gargoyle, once she shook herself out of her brief reverie. "We've got a lot of air to cover in the next few hours."

Without further preamble, she latched herself onto the nearest cliffside, and began to climb to the elevation necessary for takeoff.

Both Brooklyn and Benuthet took one last look at Zafira, and at their respective beasts, before turning to each other and nodding, once.

Then the two friends hastened to follow after.

[-]

 **Ka'ū Desert, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

Kamehameha the Great placed a finger into the solidified footprints, coating it in volcanic soot. Very carefully, he placed the tip of it to his tongue.

"These tracks may _look_ ancient," he announced to his retinue. "But they're fresh. A day or two old at most."

Sometimes, there were advantages to having grown up outside his true royal status. While he'd always been aware of his heritage, until the ascension of his uncle Kalani'ōpu'u to ruler of the island, it hadn't exactly _meant_ much. Why care about the goings-on of the royal court, when returning to it would mean a guaranteed – and likely very painful – death?

But then Alapa'inuiakauaua, the _ali'i nui_ who'd ordered the initial death sentence, suddenly passed away, and his son Keawe'ōpala lasted only a year before dying himself at Kalani'ōpu'u's hands. Suddenly, Kamehameha was welcomed back with open arms.

Of course, there was more to the story than most people knew; details even Kalani'ōpu'u's own _sons_ weren't aware of.

Technically – or at least so he'd been told – Alapa'i had rescinded the kill order when he was five, deciding he'd been too hasty in acting out the dire warnings of his _kahuna._ From that point onward, Kamehameha had been raised by Alapa'i's own wife and sister-in-law.

Still, Kamehameha had never really _felt_ like part of the family. Old suspicions never _fully_ died, and led to Alapa'i keeping the young prince at a distance.

Nevertheless, he'd been close enough to learn a great many things. Things like the movements of the great chief's troops, or the locations of his secret food stores.

And it was probably fair to say that if he hadn't shared that information with his uncle, Kalani'ōpu'u would've never been able to overthrow Keawe'ōpala so decisively.

Kamehameha's role in the coup was a secret held only by the two of them – now down to one, of course. But it was that, just as much as his feat with the Naha Stone, which'd led to Kalani'ōpu'u willing him such a valuable inheritance. He was in the prince's debt, always and forever, and they both knew it.

All the same, the aforementioned distance had had its advantages. Prior to Alapa'i's death, Kamehameha had spent his first eighteen years of life under the care of various relatives, learning all sorts of things the "true" heirs were far too important to sully their hands with.

Hunting and tracking, fishing and farming, surfing and lava-sledding. Though it would be many years before he'd be allowed to lead warriors of his own, he practiced with every weapon he could find, from blades to spears to slingstones, and listened to passed-down stories of countless old battles.

If it wasn't _kapu_ to teach him, Kamehameha the Great had always been willing to learn. It was what'd given him the edge against his enemies in the past.

And what would continue to grant him victory in the future.

Which brought the king to where he was now. He'd never seen prints like these, _precisely,_ but their proximity to Kīlauea made their cause obvious. Someone – and he had a fairly good idea as to _who_ – had been marching through this desert during the eruption, and the avalanche of hot ash had served to turn the sand around the tracks to stone. As quickly and as suddenly as _Nawao_ did the same at dawn.

That still left one question, however. What, then, had happened to the men who _made_ the prints?

It was a puzzle he didn't yet have an answer for – and while he had a talent for them, he didn't much _like_ puzzles. They'd found similar sets of footprints elsewhere in the desert, and another closer to the caldera, but both of _those_ tracks were accompanied by the fresh, if mangled, corpses of their makers.

But there were no such bodies to be found here; his men had scoured the sands for _hours,_ just to be sure. It was as if this third group of warriors had simply disappeared into thin air.

Inwardly, Kamehameha chastised himself for the ridiculous thought, forcing himself to think logically about this. What were some simple, _rational_ explanations for the fact that the footprints stopped here?

The obvious answer was divine intervention. But which of the _akua_ would be willing to grant such a boon to a pretender like Keōua? There was no patron god of craven, cowardly thieves.

No…the explanation simply didn't ring true, regardless. For one thing, Keōua was too arrogant to keep quiet about it. If he truly believed he had a god in his corner – something to counter Kamehameha's own status as guardian of Kū – then he'd be shouting that fact to anyone who might listen. And _especially_ to his enemies.

His cousin was, he could readily admit, a powerful warrior and competent strategist. But subtlety was… _not_ his strong suit.

Still, what other explanations _were_ there? Lava could melt the bodies to dust, he supposed. But there was no dried lava rock to be found around here, and in any event it was unlikely to flow this far out. At this distance, the big danger was almost always the ash and toxic fumes.

So if there was clear evidence of the warriors' presence, but none of their deaths…well, it followed that they were still alive. And if it wasn't a _god_ who'd swooped in to save them…

The king, to his credit, had _almost_ had it, right before the answer was dropped straight into his lap. Given a few more minutes, he likely would've deduced the whole chain of events (minus the time-traveling).

But that deduction was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger, dressed for heavy running and sweating tremendously. Nonetheless, as he was guided through the hundred-strong members of Kamehameha's search party, he fell before his superiors with the utmost decorum.

"M…My King," he said, panting heavily. "I bring…a message…from Queen…Ka'ahumanu. By way…of Chief…Keʻeaumoku."

Kamehameha looked down upon the young man, crossing his heavily muscled arms and frowning.

"You, fetch this messenger some water," he ordered an attendant, who hastened to obey. "And _you_ …speak. Does my wife have news of her mission to the _Nawao?_ "

"She…She does, My King," answered the messenger, before pausing briefly to inhale a proffered gourdful of water. As he did, his eyes never left the ground. "But…I fear you…won't like it."

"Speak, boy," repeated Kamehameha, towering over him. His expression was an impassive mask. "And we will see what it is I do or do not like."

[-]

 **Waimea, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

For about the first half-hour, the trio glided along in near-total silence, broken only by Makani's directions. She knew this island well, and her talent for guiding them toward the best wind currents was practically instinctive.

Eventually, however, Brooklyn was unable to help himself. "Okay Benny," he said, drawing level with his friend. "Spill."

Benuthet, who hadn't been paying attention, was jolted back to reality upon hearing the TimeDancer's nickname for him.

"Err…I'm sorry, my friend. Were you saying something?" he asked. He hadn't quite realized he'd – well, the phrase Brooklyn liked to use was "zoned out" – to that degree.

The Scottish gargoyle snorted. "Exactly what I'm talking about," he muttered dryly. "Look, you've been distracted pretty much since the name 'Pele' came up. Do you know her or something?"

"The Children of this region were not well-recorded in my time. Prior to our arrival, I knew of only two: Kāne and Kanaloa," replied Benny, his voice low. "And Whiro, of course. But…yes, as always Brooklyn, you can read me like a book. Something else _is_ on my mind."

Brooklyn made a motion for him to continue, so the Egyptian gargoyle cleared his throat and added, "Do you remember when we met the Roman Magus, and I asked for a few minutes alone with him before you came in?"

"Little hard to forget," said Brooklyn, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Yes, well…what I wanted to know from him…" the scholar went on. "Was if he knew of a way to destroy a certain artifact."

He tapped once at his satchel, and his friend understood immediately. While he had _several_ artifacts of note jostling around in there at this point, there was only one which Benny would _never_ dare use again.

One which they were only carrying around now to safeguard it…until the day they could rid the timestream of it for good.

"So what'd he say?" asked Brooklyn, voice growing even quieter. Makani seemed not to have noticed them whispering so far, and it was probably best they keep it that way.

"The Crown was originally carved from one of the Serpent's fangs," Benuthet explained. "Then reshaped by mortal sorcery and craftsmanship. Mixing magicks is always dangerous…but this unique blend makes it nearly indestructible. Still, he had _one_ suggestion. One thing in the world so naturally volatile, that even if the Crown _did_ survive, it'd be impossible for anyone to retrieve."

It took the younger gargoyle's brain a few seconds to catch up, but once it did his jaw dropped several inches. "A volcano…" he whispered.

"I thought about tossing it in, during the eruption. But getting close enough to do so would've likely meant burning alive," said Benny. "And in any event, I couldn't risk someone digging it out of the lava flow after it hardens. No…if I'm going to do this, it _needs_ to be at the crater itself."

His fist clenched for a moment around his wand.

"And it needs to be by _my_ hand," he finished, expression hardening.

Makani chose that moment to fall back slightly, so that she was level with the pair once more. "I feel like I just missed something," she grumbled, sounding a little hurt.

"Trust me… _nothing_ you wanna get yourself involved in," Brooklyn told her, stressing the words. And he had a point. Out of all the instances he'd chosen to share his role in the timestream, only two jumped to mind as having worked out particularly well – and both were currently traveling with him.

"In any event…" jumped in Benny, coming to his friend's aid by changing the subject. "How much further would you say this 'Hōnaunau' is?"

"At least a couple more hours. I'm sorry," said Makani, looking askance. "I wish I knew of someplace closer, but the _pu'u honua_ grow fewer and farther between by the year. And I…I couldn't bear if I failed as a guide, and got you two hurt…or _worse_ …"

"Pretty sure we've already covered this…but you are _way_ too hard on yourself, Em," Brooklyn tried to reassure her. "You're doing the best you can. That's all anyone can ask for."

Despite her general dourness, one of the tattooed gargoyle's eye ridges slowly rose. "Em?" she repeated, confused.

"Oh, sorry. I like giving my friends nicknames. Benny, case in point," responded the TimeDancer, sticking a thumb back at his leonine companion. "Wasn't really sure what to do with 'Makani,' so I just did the same thing as Zee – used the first letter. Well…the first letter in English, anyway. Guess it doesn't really have the same ring."

A small smile, however, had crept onto her beak. "I'm not sure about this… _nik_ -name…" she said, mouth twitching slightly. "But I like the sound of the rest of it."

"What do you mean?" asked Benuthet.

They glided on for several minutes before Makani answered, her voice increasingly raspy, "You have no idea how long it's been since anyone called me 'friend.'"

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

Zafira, meanwhile, was making significantly less progress than her mate.

For about thirty or forty minutes she'd been exploring the forests around the Hawaiian Clan's protectorate, searching for any clues as to the humans' – and demigod's – disappearance. But though she had two of the most adept hunting beasts of all time at her side, the closest she'd come to success was inadvertently stepping in a pile of disintegrated _menehune._

Though they shared a similar inquisitive spirit, her _aptitude_ for the work simply wasn't the match for Benuthet's. She preferred to tackle her problems head-on, whenever possible, and right now that attitude was a poor fit for her self-appointed mission.

Especially since, after their previous "Dance" had dredged up so many bad memories, she couldn't help thinking back to the _last_ time her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Involuntarily, despite the ample heat and humidity, she found herself shivering.

Losing a friend, and seeing the brother who slew him turn into a bloodsucking monster, were object lessons one tended not to forget.

The Mayan gargoyle took a deep breath, forcing thoughts of the past out of her mind. Right now, there were far more pressing matters to attend to.

She'd found clear signs of a struggle several minutes ago, in a small clearing not too far from the clan's main roosting area. It was a plausible site for the abduction of Māui, the queen, and the pale man; Zee, still not entirely used to them, had already forgotten their names.

But if so…then whoever was responsible had left no trace of their identity whatsoever.

Which wasn't to say she had absolutely _no_ leads left. There were _two_ breaks in the undergrowth leading away from the clearing, one much larger than the other. The first, she was fairly certain, belonged to the beasts.

So with no better options presenting themselves, she'd chosen to investigate the second.

The vegetation was too thick to leave clear footprints, but it was immediately obvious where it'd been forcibly parted to make way for someone's passage. Fu-Dog and Kebechet growled low as she followed the trail, which was either a very good or a very _bad_ sign.

Zafira continued along the makeshift path for about ten more minutes, collecting the odd clue here and there – a couple of red feathers, a torn-off strip of black cloth. While it wasn't _absolute_ proof, that she was on the right track was becoming more and more likely.

The only question was whether she was following after the humans, who'd managed to escape…or after their abductor.

Eventually, she found herself within sight of the point where they'd started – where they'd first learnt from Honua of the island's curse. The area appeared to be deserted now, however.

Or at least…that was what she'd _thought,_ before a bloodcurdling screech echoed throughout the valley.

The scarlet gargoyle was sprinting within an instant, her keen ears piqued for any further sounds. It'd come, she was sure, from deeper within the Hawaiian Clan's protectorate, and Zee found herself pushing past any number of trees and broken structures in her hurry to catch up with it, the beasts bounding right after her.

For almost a full, heart-pounding minute, she saw nothing more than a deeper and denser green. But then…

The entire scene came upon her at once, in stark contrast. The pale human and the queen, dirty and disheveled, stumbling backward in a harried panic as they dodged one blow after another – each one just by the skin of their teeth.

And their attacker – a very familiar, fire-orange gargoyle, slashing alternatively with her bone weapon and an open claw, snarling viciously with each strike.

"Please, _Nawao!_ You need to control yourself!" exclaimed the human woman, clutching at a bleeding gash in her arm. "We did not come to fight you!"

"Just like _your_ kind controls themselves around _us?_ Around _him?!_ " said Honua, her voice a savage screech. " _He_ didn't come to fight! And what'd you _monsters_ do to him?!"

"Noble gargoyle. You aren't making any sense," the foreigner attempted, keeping his voice deliberately level. "If you'd calm down and just explain, maybe we could help…"

It was clear, however, that he'd said exactly the wrong thing.

"Help? _Help?!_ " she roared, cutting him off. The queen pulled him out of the way just in time to avoid the serrated weapon cleaving his face in two. "There's only _one_ way you _animals_ can help me…!"

Unfortunately, it seemed the pair's luck had run out. The queen wasn't exactly in shape, and her hasty rescue had caused the two of them to tumble to the ground. Honua slowly raised the weapon above her head, still screaming at the top of her lungs.

But when it came back down, it met not flesh – but another blade.

"Honua! What're you _doing?!_ " demanded Zafira, pushing against the older gargoyle's surprisingly powerful blow with all her might. Their weapons sang a bitter cacophony of bone-on-metal as each fought for dominance over the other.

Yet Honua, it seemed, was beyond reason. "Get out of my _way!_ " she said, growling through gritted fangs. Her eyes seemed perpetually locked in crimson. "They have to pay! They have to die! _All of them!_ "

Then, without warning, she parried away Zee's obsidian blade, and lunged.

But the Mayan gargoyle was hardly a novice when it came to single combat, and she quickly turned Honua's momentum against her, tossing her headlong into a tree. In the brief moment where she was stunned, Zafira followed it up with a quick tail-snap at her right claw, forcing her to drop her bone-weapon.

"I don't know what's gotten into you…" she murmured, pressing her own blade against the back of Honua's neck. "But you _need_ to stop. You're not helping your clan like this. Your _children._ I thought they _mattered_ to you!"

"M…My children…" whispered Honua, and already, a great deal of her earlier mania seemed to have faded from her voice. "I…I don't…"

Cautiously, Zee lifted the blade from against her skin and backed away a few feet, the sudden shift having thrown her for a loop. The crippled gargoyle now sounded, for all the world, like someone suddenly waking up from a long sleep.

"Can you hear me, Honua?" she asked, keeping her tone low and non-confrontational. "Are you alright?"

A dim, strained groan slowly escaped from the older gargoyle's beak.

"Y…You…" mumbled Honua, clutching at her head. "What're _you_ doing here…?"

Zafira crossed her arms and scowled. "I could ask the same thing," she said. "You'd better have a good explanation for what you were about to do."

Honua's fangs glinted in defiance. "I don't know what you're talking about," was her hissed reply, and though the words were venomous and spiteful, they also rang sincere to Zee's ear. Whatever had just happened, Honua knew no more than she did.

The pale human, who'd remained silent throughout this tense exchange, chose that moment to dust himself off and cautiously approach the gargoyles, his posture passive and non-confrontational.

"Now, some diplomats might consider attempted murder a deal-breaker," he declared, his tone smooth and practiced. "But I've been given a mission by my king, and I intend to see it through. So why don't we try this again? My name is John Young, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I know who _you_ are, _hāʻole,_ " snapped Honua, still struggling to orient herself. She wasn't facing the humans directly, but staring to the side and wincing. "And my answer is still the same."

The queen stepped forward as well, frowning.

" _He_ may be willing to let this behavior slide, but I will not," she said. "You attacked the king's wife with the intent to kill, unprovoked. By _any_ definition – human or _Nawao,_ Hawaiian or _hāʻole_ – that is tantamount to a declaration of war. But I may be willing to forget your… _indiscretion._ If you will meet us halfway."

"I will _not_ be bullied into submission in my own protectorate," responded Honua, finally having recovered enough to meet the rotund human's gaze. It was really a sight to behold; the intensity of each woman's glare was matched only by the other's. "I don't remember 'attacking' anyone. And even if I had…you monsters would've _deserved_ it."

"All the king desires is peace," Young tried to offer up, but Honua cut him off from any further attempts at diplomacy with a sharp, biting laugh.

"After you steal our land, slaughter our brethren, betray us at every single turn… _now_ you expect me to believe you wish for peace?" she demanded, not bothering to wait for an answer. "Humans are all the same. _Hāʻole_ are all the same. The only way we survive is on our own. And the survival of my clan is _all_ I care about."

The queen's eyes narrowed. "You are a fool," she told the gargoyle, after a moment's pause. "Your Second has a much more level head."

Honua's eyes instantly flashed crimson. " _What_ did you just say?" she asked, fists clenched.

But the queen didn't back down. "I will not mince words. I came here to judge for myself the leader of the _Nawao,_ and so far, I find my expectations… _lacking,_ " she said. "For what I've seen is a leader who is stubborn, impetuous, and unstable. If you _truly_ care about your children so dearly, you will step aside for someone more capable – _sooner_ than later."

The orange gargoyle gnashed her fangs, growling so fiercely Zee found herself taking a step back.

"I am the _only_ thing standing between my clan and extinction!" exclaimed Honua, getting right up in the queen's face. "A _human_ could never understand."

The queen, however, barely even flinched at this – though Zafira noticed her fingers twitch, almost imperceptibly, over the spot where Honua had wounded her in blind rage. She wasn't, the Mayan gargoyle suddenly realized, nearly as stoic and unflappable as her demeanor reflected.

She was just _really_ good at faking it.

"Tell me something, _Nawao,_ " stated the queen, her voice even and unyielding. "Do you maintain that lie for your clan's sake…or for your _own?_ "

Instantly, Honua's eyes were blazing once more, and for one heart-stopping moment Zee was certain she was about to go berserk once again. Indeed, her hand was already on the hilt of her obsidian blade when, a second later, it all became moot.

The spear was tipped with the same white, serrated material that made up Honua's own weapon. Or at least…Zafira _assumed_ it was a spear. From this angle, she could only see the very end of its tip.

Protruding, at an ugly angle, straight through Honua's ribcage.

Her eyes went wide with shock, and her jaw dropped open slightly as a choked, hoarse series of sounds just barely managed to escape her throat. It seemed as if she was trying to say something, though Zee wasn't sure to _whom._ Her eyes stared straight past the humans, intent upon something none of them could see.

Then she fell.

It didn't take long to spot where the weapon had come from. Even if Fu-Dog and Kebechet hadn't erupted into furious barks, the culprit wasn't exactly making an effort to hide himself.

"If you are not with the rightful king, _Nawao_ …" said Keōua Kū'ahu'ula, standing in front of at least a hundred armed warriors – many of them the very same men they'd rescued less than forty-eight hours prior. "Then you are _against_ him."

The muscular human strode forward and picked up Honua's white blade, where it'd fallen during the earlier struggle. But there was something distinctly _different_ about him now, and as he drew closer Zafira realized just what it was.

His eyes had the very same glint in them as Honua's, during her madness.

"And enemies of the king…" he added in a nasty, hissing voice, as he raised the weapon up high. "Must be _destroyed._ "

[-]

 **Mauna Kea, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"Is it just me…" said Brooklyn, his head cocked to the side as he looked out in the distance. "Or is there _snow_ on that mountain?"

They were passing to the right of the mountain in question, its rolling hills spread out for miles in every direction. And atop the tallest _was,_ indeed, an enormous expanse of packed white – reminding Brooklyn far more of their recent journey to a Tibetan monastery, than anything he'd expected to see _here._

Makani seemed rather confused by the question. "Of course it is," she answered, shrugging her shoulders as they took advantage of a sharp updraft to gain some altitude. "That's Mauna Kea. One of the five great volcanoes that make up this island."

Brooklyn shrugged back. "Just seems kinda weird – snow in Hawaii," he muttered, mostly to himself. "They sure left _that_ outta all the tourist brochures. Like advertising Britain for its clear, sunny skies…or Madagascar for its carnivorous trees."

"Wait…did you say _five_ volcanoes?" Benny spoke up, his tone suddenly urgent. His eyes were now firmly upon the snow-tipped peak.

"Kohala, Mauna Kea, Mauna Loa, Hualālai…and our destination, Kīlauea," said Makani, ticking them off on her talons. "Together, they gave birth to all these islands. Well…with some help from Māui. If you believe the stories."

Brooklyn, however, was pretty sure he'd figured out what had Benuthet's attention.

"Don't suppose we could pow-wow with Pele on one of the _closer_ ones?" he asked. "I mean, if time is such a big deal…"

"Pele may be the goddess of volcanoes, but right now she only controls two of them: Mauna Loa and Kīlauea," the tattooed gargoyle attempted to explain. "The others were stolen from her by her rival, the snow goddess Poli'ahu. If we're going to see Pele, there isn't a _worse_ place to go than Mauna Kea – where Poli'ahu and her three sisters make their home."

"Hence the winter wonderland on top. Got it," Brooklyn remarked dryly.

"Children associated with fire and ice being adversaries is hardly unusual, generally speaking," Benny added, thoughtfully stroking his false beard. "But is there any _particular_ reason for their enmity?"

"A better question would be what _isn't_ a reason," said Makani. "Pele and Poli'ahu are half-sisters; both born daughters of Kāne. And they've been fighting pretty much ever since. Over mortal men, over who is most beautiful – but most of all, over these mountains. They're the places where the land touches the sky. To the humans, and to the _akua_ … _nothing_ is more sacred."

She shook her head and sighed, before continuing, "When Poli'ahu brought down her snows upon this, a seat of Pele's power…well, there was pretty much no greater insult than that. Though to be fair, I think she only did it because Pele was trying to kill her after losing a lava-sledding contest. Or something like that. It's been a while since I heard the legend."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, _wait._ Hold up right there," Brooklyn interjected, holding up both claws. "Am I hearing things or did you just say _lava-sledding?_ "

"I mean no offense, _Pluk'līn,_ but you express surprise at the strangest things," she responded, cocking her head slightly. "It's quite a popular sport among the humans. Don't they have such a game where you come from?"

"They do _noooooooot_ ," said the Gargoyle of the Sword, wincing as he drew out the word. "I mean, how do they keep from, y'know… _dying?_ "

Makani's eyebrow ridges rose even higher. "Ah…I think I see your confusion. They slide down rock formations _created_ by lava," she told him. "Did you actually think I meant taking a surfboard down a river of _molten_ lava? You'd burn alive before even touching it!"

Benny, however, seemed to have taken something different from her story. "So, in summary, the goddess we're about to parlay with once tried to murder her sister…over a game," he murmured.

The tattooed gargoyle returned her gaze forward, her breath held for a few moments, before finally answering, "That's pretty much who she is. I'd say about half the legends of Pele end with some variation of '…and then she got angry and buried someone in lava.' And she hates Poli'ahu and her sisters more than any other."

A deep sigh escaped her throat. "I told you it'd be dangerous just to go near her, and I meant it. If you want to return now, I wouldn't blame you," she went on, without waiting for them to respond. "But if you _really_ want to find out what's going on with this island, she's still our best bet."

There was no hesitation on the part of either of the male gargoyles. Benuthet nodded firmly, and Brooklyn just said, "No chance we're backing out now. If we could stand our ground against the Erlking, a powered-up Kingu, and a giant multiplying demon-centipede…well, I think we can handle one fire-lady with an attitude problem."

"I…I see…" Makani replied, breath catching slightly. It was clear from her tone she'd been half-expecting them to turn tail and glide off right that second. "But…in that case… _Pluk'līn,_ I must ask one thing of you."

His attention perked up immediately. "What's that?" he asked.

" _Please_ don't call Pele that to her face," she stated bluntly.

There was a moment's pause. Then Brooklyn was clutching at his side, chuckling harder than he had in weeks.

"Oh, trust me. If there's one thing I've learned over the years…which's really a _lot_ less than I should've…" he said, beating at his chest to keep the mirth from clogging his throat. "It's when to keep this big fat beak of mine _shut._ "

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

It was nearly a hundred versus three – two of whom were gargoyle beasts, fierce but limited in their ability to counter the humans' superior weapons.

So if the third hadn't happened to be one of the finest warriors of the sixteenth century, it might not have been a fair fight.

As it was, Zafira moved like a gargoyle possessed, unable to let up even for a single moment lest an opportunistic warrior seize the opening and strike her dead. It took all her concentration and skill to hold back Keōua's small army…

But at the moment, that _was_ exactly what she was doing.

It helped that Keōua's warriors were all far from peak condition. Though tall and muscular nearly to a man, they were also visibly exhausted, run ragged from the chaos of the last couple of nights. If they'd had a chance to rest since the eruption, they certainly didn't show it.

All that meant slower reflexes, weaker blows, greatly reduced stamina – not to mention a distinct lack of coordination or teamwork. Had they teamed up with even minimal competence and overwhelmed her with sheer numbers, she'd be dead for sure.

Instead, even if only by the skin of her fangs, she was managing to dodge or parry each and every strike, assisted tremendously in "crowd control" by the strength and ferocity of the beasts. The humans had clearly never fought anything like Fu-Dog or Kebechet before, and soon were falling by the dozens as they bulldozed through the army, clawing and biting.

Still, this left many dozens _more_ whose sole intent seemed to be the death of every other human or gargoyle in that clearing, and Zafira was fighting harder than ever simply to hold them back. She was the only one who _could._

John Young and the queen were pinned down where they stood, injured and unarmed, with little hope of breaking through the warriors who surrounded their position. And as for Honua…

Well, Zafira was trying very hard not to think about that.

Again and again and again, sharpened obsidian met stone and bone with a furious clang. Zee leveraged each and every blow to maximize her gargoyle strength and, hopefully, take the offending human out of the battle. But her progress was slow and uneven, at best.

Ultimately, there were no two ways about it: this wasn't a position she could hold for much longer.

Her first mistake came about ten minutes into the battle – not that she was keeping track, of course. A particularly burly warrior barreled toward her with a heavy club, forcing her into a two-handed block to redirect his momentum, and in doing so she overcompensated, stumbling over her back foot. Seeing his opening, Keōua himself lunged forward, and she came within an inch of being skewered by Honua's stolen blade.

"Won't let you take this from me," he said, teeth gritted as he pressed his advance. Off-balance, she could only dodge ungracefully as one thrust was followed by three. "Won't let _anyone!_ This island is _mine!_ Mine mine mine mine mine _mine_ _mine!_ "

There was no question about it. The words might've been different, but the tone was precisely the same. Whatever madness had briefly overtaken Honua was infecting this man as well.

Perhaps, then, he too could be talked back to sanity. Except that Zafira knew almost nothing of the young chief. If he had a better nature, she hadn't the _slightest_ idea how to appeal to it.

Still, lacking any other options, she took both a figurative and literal stab at it, locking her weapon with his.

"What good is owning the island, if you have to bathe it in blood to seize it?" she demanded. "This slaughter won't help you gain power! You'll only cause more pain!"

It was weak, generic; not something she'd really _expected_ to work. Still, she could feel a rushing sense of disappointment as his expression twisted into a cruel, wicked leer.

"The pain of my enemies _is_ power," he whispered, before breaking away from her guard with a guttural snarl.

They were the only two dueling, now – the other warriors either engaged with the beasts, or unwilling to step too close to the flurry of blows they were trading. Keōua's style was wild, unhinged, and threatened to impale any nearby spectators just as readily as his target.

"Your kind had a chance. I gave you a _choice,_ " he spat, in between furious strikes. "You could've stood with me, _Nawao!_ I would've kept you _safe!_ I would've made you _strong!_ "

Each exclamation was punctuated with a fresh thrust, so much strength behind each that it scarcely seemed possible for a human, and it was all Zee could do to keep from losing ground.

"But what'd you do, _instead?!_ You _betrayed_ me! Betrayed your _king!_ " he continued to roar. "Sided with this filthy _hāʻole,_ and the usurper's whore! So now you can _burn_ with them!"

The pair's duel raged on, the din of battle so fierce that even the beasts' keen ears missed a noise some distance away.

A noise that was faint, barely even noticeable – but also distinct and familiar.

The sound of something very small skittering about, squeaking and chittering…

And digging.

[-]

 **North Kona, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"We're making good time, relatively speaking," Makani managed to pant out, between deep gulps of water from a nearby river. "But we can't afford to rest here long."

"I do apologize, my friends," said Benuthet, splashing water across his face as well as he stretched his overstressed wings. "I may have been trained as both scholar and warrior…but not as an endurance glider. Just give me a few moments to catch my breath."

"Not like you're the only one with sore wing-tips right now, Benny," responded Brooklyn with a groan. "Though I've had worse. Raced this human girl named Amelia once…never _did_ find out what happened to her…"

The three of them leaned against a ridge of black stones on the riverside, eyes upon the clear night sky, a thousand stars twinkling above.

"Does it look like this every night?" the Scottish gargoyle found himself asking, voice muted.

"Ever since I can remember," answered Makani, matching his tone. "I mean, you know…sometimes it rains, but I…"

Slowly, she slid down the side of the rock, until she was in a sitting position, wings curled protectively around herself. Brooklyn and Benuthet joined her a moment later.

"I love my home. I _really_ do," she whispered, choking up just a little bit. "I don't want to lose it."

"But…weren't _you_ the one who suggested leaving?" Brooklyn was unable to keep himself from saying. A second later he mentally kicked himself for the insensitivity.

Still, she didn't seem bothered. "I may love this island. The winds, the earth, the creatures," Makani told him. "But I love my brothers and sisters _more._ If there's a chance – even the _smallest_ one – that I can save them, then I…"

She didn't speak any further. But she didn't really need to.

The trio stayed there like that, entirely silent, for quite some time. But eventually her beak opened again.

"Alright…now it's my turn to ask a question," she murmured. Everything about her body language – her shifting shoulders, her averted eyes – told Brooklyn this was something she'd been trying to work up the nerve to say for quite some time. "And it's okay if you don't want to answer. But I…I _have_ to try anyway. While I have the courage."

Finally, she twisted her body to face him directly, and asked, "What aren't you telling me?"

"Uh…err…wait, what?" sputtered Brooklyn, whose mind had briefly been going in an entirely different direction.

"I'm _not_ stupid, _Pluk'līn,_ " she said, almost looking surprised at her own boldness. "I know you and the other travelers have been hiding something from us since you got here. Something big. Nothing about your story adds up, and it's really bugging me."

The uncharacteristic assertiveness didn't last long, however, and she returned to a much lower and meeker voice as she added, "Like I said, if you really don't want to tell…that's okay. But if we're going to be…to be…"

"Friends," Benny supplied readily.

She swallowed, but quietly nodded. "If we're supposed to be… _that_ …" she went on, wings slumped. "Then I want to know. What you've been keeping from me. What you've been keeping from _everyone._ "

Brooklyn exchanged a glance with his traveling companion. "It's…kind of a long story," he replied.

"We've still got a couple hours before we reach Hōnaunau," was her rebuttal, emphasized with a crossing of her muscular arms. "We need to fill that time with _something._ "

The quickness of her rejoinder had him stumbling a bit. "Well…err…I mean, it's _complicated_ …" he mumbled, now averting his own eyes. "And hard to believe."

"I just found out my mentor was a demigod Trickster in disguise," said Makani. "I think I'm ready for anything at this point."

A half-formed snappy comeback died in the TimeDancer's throat. He had to admit – she had a point there.

"Alright. This is always a dicey conversation topic…but I'll give it a shot," he told her, returning to his feet again. His gaze had returned to those wondrous stars. "Only once we're back in the air, though."

"Why is that?" asked Makani, though she and Benny were both joining him without objection. Whether or not they said it aloud, all three knew their respite was at an end.

"Because if you decide the two of us belong in a loony bin…" said Brooklyn, readying himself for the climb back to gliding height. "I want you to have the option to glide the hell away, just in case."

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

" _Why,_ monster?!" demanded Keōua Kū'ahu'ula, advancing with every screamed syllable. "Why…won't…you… _die?!_ "

Zafira didn't have a quip ready to counter him, and in any event his furious assault left her no gaps in which to deliver one. There weren't too many areas where Brooklyn had both her _and_ her mate beat, but witty combat banter was certainly one of them.

Still, she struck back just as fiercely whenever there was an opening, attacking with blade, claw, and tail at speeds she'd rarely ever needed in battle. It was not only his strength but also his agility and reflexes that seemed to be enhanced – not _quite_ a match for her natural abilities, but closer than any other human she'd ever faced – and his sheer, unyielding ferocity neutralized even that small advantage.

All this meant that each lunge, parry, and thrust was met with precisely the same, and any ground gained by one party would be retaken within the instant. Really and truly, they were evenly matched.

Their fight took them past an array of Keōua's warriors, several of whom were still struggling not to be mauled by the gargoyle beasts, but many _more_ of whom had stopped to observe the duel, stiff-eyed and slack-jawed.

The sight caused Keōua to snarl in frustration.

"What're you all doing, just _standing_ there?!" he said viciously, his words directed to no one in particular as he locked weapons with his opponent once more. "Help me!"

"B…But, my king…" stammered the closest one, who sounded confused. "You said you wanted to take care of the _Nawao_ yourself. That none of us should interfere."

"I…wait, _what?_ " muttered Keōua, and strangely enough, his tone seemed _just_ as perplexed. "I…I don't remember…"

Zafira's eyes went wide as she stared into his, watching as something changed within them. It wasn't much, but that glint – that sheen of madness – appeared to be flickering somewhat.

But the change was short-lived. A moment later, the glint was back…and more intense than ever.

"That doesn't mean you get to sit on your asses and gape!" he exclaimed, pushing with all his might to break Zee's guard. Her muscles strained to keep her grip on the obsidian blade from slipping. "Go after the rest of these creatures! Burn the forest if you have to! Leave _none_ alive!"

"My king, with all due respect," said another of the warriors, his voice small but far more self-assured than the last. He was a little bit younger, and a bit scrawnier, than the rest – no older than his early twenties. "If we just wait for sunrise, then…"

Abruptly, Keōua pulled his spear away from the clash, so quickly that Zafira nearly lost her balance. Then, in one fluid motion, he turned it around and struck the young warrior across the face with its blunt end.

"I don't want these traitors to die peacefully, in their sleep!" he shouted, driving his heel against the other man's chest to emphasize the point. "They deserve to suffer! Slowly, painfully! Like _I've_ suffered!"

That was all the raving chief got a chance to say before Zafira barreled into him from behind, forcing him face-first into the dirt.

"Whatever else I might call you, you're obviously a formidable warrior," she told him, finally finding her quip. "But I guess you never learned not to turn your back on an opponent."

Okay…so it wasn't exactly Brooklyn-quality sarcasm. But it was accurate nonetheless.

Quick to press her advantage, the Mayan gargoyle leapt upon his back and, with a single swipe of her tail, disarmed Keōua. Her obsidian blade was pressed against the back of his neck, a silent threat to ward off any interference from the others.

Truthfully, she had no intention of stooping to his level and killing Keōua – if she did, she'd have run him through and been done with it when his back was turned. But _they_ didn't need to know that.

"Leave this valley," said Zafira, her eyes flashing red for a moment to underline the command. "Leave this valley and never return. You won't get a second chance to walk away."

A lengthy silence followed, as every other pair of eyes in the clearing turned toward her, and then to each other, as if paralyzed by indecision. But it was finally broken by two hoarse, grunted words: " _Do it._ "

Zee's gaze trailed downward, certain she'd misheard. But she could see Keōua's lips moving, and they repeated again, "Do it, _Nawao._ Because if you slay me…then a hundred spears will pierce your heart at once."

Her eyes narrowed. "You can't rule this island if you're dead," she pointed out.

"And if I _don't_ rule it, Hawai'i will crumble within a generation," Keōua spat out, his yellowed teeth gritted tightly. "But I'd rather see these islands wither and die…than surrender them to that blasted usurper. So kill me, _Nawao._ Kill me, and doom us all!"

Zafira looked down at the man she was pinning to the ground, as if seeing him properly for the first time.

"You're insane," she said, breath catching in her throat. She glanced up, directing the rest of her words at the warriors. "How can you still follow this man? He said it himself: he doesn't care about you! He doesn't care about your home, or your families! Just his own power!"

"That's where you're wrong, _Nawao,_ " Keōua cut across her. His tone shifted suddenly, becoming lower, quieter. "I care more about this island than any man alive. But I also see the way the winds are blowing. The usurper thinks he's being clever, inviting the _hāʻole,_ letting them run rampant. Like _that_ miserable dog over there."

He weakly directed his only free limb, his right leg, in the vague direction of John Young, who – alongside the queen – was standing to the side, observing this exchange cautiously.

"He's been seduced by the trinkets they bring. The weapons, the trade. But it's blinded him to the _poisons_ that come with them," continued the chief. "You think they'll stop with a few trading posts or shipyards? _No!_ More will come! They'll bring their families and friends, their religion, their culture. They'll seize the land, they'll build homes and fortresses! Erect temples to their savage god!"

Though Zafira's knees kept his arms from moving, Keōua slowly clenched both fists, the calloused skin reddening noticeably.

"And you think, when they do, that they'll just let us be?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "Oh no, no, no, _no._ Their nature is to conquer, to _destroy._ They'll take these islands for their own, and build a new kingdom atop our bones!"

As much as he was able, he struggled to turn his head to address her directly. He only succeeded in exposing one eye, but it was _burning_ with hatred.

"If I don't take control now, then our home won't _exist_ anymore," he said, voice barely above a whisper now. "And if the usurper succeeds at selling it out to those thieves? Well then, yes. You can be damn sure every man here would sooner see it _die._ "

Zafira slowly peered around the faces of the bare-chested humans, nearly all of which were set in identical, unyielding determination. Mutedly, she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been keeping in.

It was clear, now: reason wasn't going to work here. And she was _far_ too outnumbered to win through force.

Right now, the blade at Keōua's throat was quite literally the only thing keeping her, the beasts, and the rest of the chief's enemies alive.

The moment that she realized that, the ground split in two.

[-]

 **South Kona, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"Alright…let me see if I have this all correct," said Makani, anxiously wringing her muscular claws. "You, _Pluk'līn,_ were born in a place called _Kāk'land,_ about eight hundred years ago. But then a magic spell froze your clan in sleep for a millennium, so you're actually from two hundred years in our…future…"

"Yup," replied Brooklyn with a nod.

"And _in_ that future, you touched an artifact called the _Pīnik Kēk,_ and accidentally released the creature bound within it," she continued on, voice wavering slightly. "Which whisked you off on a journey through time and space you have no control over. One you've been on for _years_ at this point."

"Pretty much," he stated, shrugging a shoulder.

"Then, in the course of all that, you picked up _Penukek_ in a land called _Īhip'ke,_ _Kāpira_ in _Kuwākemālā,_ and your companion beast in _Haina,_ " Makani struggled to pronounce all the foreign names, at one point biting her tongue and wincing when "Egypt" was attempted. Ironically, thanks to all the vowels, "Guatemala" sounded like it came more naturally. "And since then, you've tangled with all manner of monsters, mages, and gods alike."

"Well, I technically met Benny in Rome, though he's _from_ Egypt. _That_ Dance came a little later," said Brooklyn. "Otherwise you've more or less got it."

"Is there any pattern to your travels? Any reason you might've come here _now,_ of all times?" she asked him.

Brooklyn grimaced. "Maybe, maybe not. I seem to always show up when things are at their diciest. But I dunno if that's some kinda 'by the inscrutable will of the Phoenix' deal…or just my own rotten luck," he explained. "Or…both, maybe. Not discounting the possibility that it's simply screwing with me."

"For the record, Brooklyn, I agree with my mate," Benuthet spoke up, gliding up to draw level with the other two. "There is certainly _some_ measure of purpose to each of our sojourns – obtuse as that purpose might sometimes be. And this is clearly no exception. Both the humans and _Harmakhis_ of this island stand at a crossroads."

"I just wish we knew a better way to help," muttered the Scottish gargoyle. "Way you tell it, Makani, if we'd just gotten here a few years earlier…"

Suddenly, he stopped talking, blinking several times. "Hold on a minute," he said. "You're talking like you actually _believe_ what I'm saying."

"Of course I do. I told you, I've seen and heard a _lot_ stranger the last couple of nights," she responded, sounding a little hurt. "I hope you didn't take advantage of that to tell me a bunch of fanciful stories."

"No, no! That's not what I meant!" exclaimed Brooklyn, holding up his claws and sweating slightly. "It's just…it's usually harder to get others to accept all this stuff. Remember how the Seonee Clan leader reacted when we gave her _half_ the story?"

"Vividly," Benny answered, with a slow shake of his head. "Though to be fair, there _was_ a civil war going on at the time."

"Well, I've always been taught to accept what's in front of me, not to let my own preconceptions cloud my judgment," Makani told them. "Though given that the one _who_ taught me that was Awāwa…well, I guess that explains a few things."

"Were you close?" Brooklyn couldn't help but ask. "You called him your 'mentor' a little while ago."

"For as long as I can remember," whispered the tattooed gargoyle, sounding somewhat wistful. "He was one generation too young to be a father to me…well, at least he _said_ he was. I guess none of us know how old he _really_ is."

She sighed. "But anyway…even if he wasn't exactly a father and wasn't exactly a brother, he always _felt_ like family. More than anyone else in the clan," she said. "Honua picked me as the next Second when I was really young, and that made being a hatchling… _difficult._ But Awāwa was always there. To teach me the things I needed to know, to meet Honua's expectations. To give me a shoulder to cry on, when I got upset. To…tend to my bruises and scrapes, until the sun came up."

As she said this, a claw drifted up to touch her cheek, as if imagining one of the aforementioned wounds. Inside Brooklyn, he felt a rising surge of hatred toward the clan leader.

"He…really means a lot to me," Makani went on, not making eye contact with either of them. "I just hope he's alright. I…I _need_ him to be alright. Or I'll never forgive myself."

"Hey, hey, you said it yourself. That guy is one tough cookie," Brooklyn attempted to comfort her. "If even _half_ of those stories you told us are true, I don't think you've got a thing to worry about."

But that didn't seem to assuage her concerns, her claws clutching to her shoulders as they frequently did when she was nervous.

"Those aren't the… _only_ stories I know about the legendary Māui," she said. "Sure, he's a Trickster, but that didn't stop him from being tricked all the time himself. He may be strong, and fast, and cunning…but he's also stubborn, gullible, and short-tempered. It's easy to imagine him getting into some real trouble."

"Well, err…that's part of why we're doing _this,_ right?" asked Brooklyn, frowning. "To see if that Pele chick knows anything."

"What is the relationship between Māui and Pele, if I might ask?" Benuthet added. "Do you think she'd be more willing to aid us if she knew he was in danger…or less?"

Brooklyn could tell his friend was still thinking of the earlier story about Poli'ahu.

"It's…hard to say. None of the legends I know even mention them meeting," declared Makani. "I do know they're related by marriage – she's half-sisters with the moon goddess, Hina. She's Māui's wife. And also his…sister? I think? But Pele and Māui aren't related by blood, are they? So I guess it must be on the other side…except Māui said his mother was a mortal woman, so…"

She shook her head vigorously. "This whole thing makes me glad _Nawao_ don't get hung up on all that silly 'bloodline' business. It's _way_ too hard to keep track," she said. "Either way, I've never heard of any conflict between Pele and Hina, the way she has with a lot of her sisters. But that's no guarantee they're friendly, either. It might just not have wound up in the stories mortals tell."

"Sounds like Miss Magma is still our best bet, then," remarked Brooklyn, grateful they were off that topic as well. Human family trees got complicated enough for his tastes _without_ bringing incest into it. "Any idea how much farther we've got to go?"

"Until we reach the _pu'u honua?_ At this rate, perhaps another hour," she guessed, gauging by the position of the moon.

For a moment, the golden crescent almost seemed to twinkle, as if acknowledging she'd spoken the name of its mistress – though the glow was gone when she looked again.

"Then by my calculations, we're going to _just_ beat the sunrise," said Benny, gazing thoughtfully at the horizon. "We should be prepared for a speedy landing the moment we arrive."

"Understood," murmured Makani, matching his expression. She waited a few seconds before speaking again, her voice even quieter this time. "Oh…and one other thing, if I may."

"What is it?" Brooklyn asked.

She pressed her beak tightly closed, steadying herself. Until finally, she told them, "Thank you. For trusting me with all this. It can't have been easy to share so much of your story."

"Well trust _me,_ Makani…" Brooklyn replied, joining the other two in staring out in the distance, across the rolling fields and beautiful greenery that stretched before them. "At a certain point…the story gets so long, all you _wanna_ do is share it."

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

It was a far, _far_ worse earthquake than the one her mate had magically induced earlier that night.

For one thing, there was a visible crack running straight through the ground in front of her – one that was already nearly a meter wide, and steadily growing wider. The dirt shook tempestuously, knocking just about every human or gargoyle in the valley off their feet, and forcing the few that'd managed to seize hold of supports in time to cling on for dear life.

A couple warriors had been unlucky enough to be standing atop the point where the earth opened, and hadn't managed to leap away in time. Their screams still echoed in Zafira's head.

"What's going on here?!" demanded Keōua, who'd managed to extricate himself from under Zee in all the confusion. His mad eyes peered around desperately at his men, who held no answer, eventually settling back upon his foe. "This is _your_ doing, isn't it, monster!"

Zafira, of course, had no better idea what was causing this than any of the humans. She briefly glanced toward John Young and the queen, but they too seemed just as bewildered, if maintaining better composure in the face of it.

Only one individual in the clearing registered any expression apart from confusion or panic. A rasping, strained gasp erupted from Honua's throat, as the prone gargoyle's eyes suddenly shot open.

" _N…No…_ " she managed to choke out, causing a fresh trickle of blood to dribble down her cheek.

It was all she had the strength to say, but it was enough. Timorously, Zee followed the path of the older gargoyle's gaze and saw something rising in the distance.

Just over the tops of the trees, a series of rough stones could now be seen, pointing toward the skies.

"What… _is_ that?" said Zafira, her voice a hushed whisper.

"Th…The Dance…" Honua forced herself to answer, fighting through the blood. "But… _no._ T…Too soon. _Too soon_ …"

She wasn't making any sense, and already seemed to be slipping back into unconsciousness. Zee fought the urge to shake or hit her, worried it might worsen her injury.

None of the others seemed to find these words very illuminating, either. But the _tone_ in which they'd been delivered was already having one noticeable effect: namely, removing any last semblance of Keōua's sanity.

"I don't know what's going on here, but I won't die in a place like this! You hear me, _Nawao?!_ " he screamed, scrambling for Honua's bone-white blade once more, and waving it above his head like a madman. "I'll kill every last one of your wretched kind first!"

He turned to his warriors, growling like a rabid beast. "Spread out through the valley!" he commanded them. "Do as I told you! Kill! _Kill them all!_ "

The young man from earlier, the one whom Keōua had struck across the face, chose that moment to speak up again. Though his cheek still displayed a nasty welt from the spear-shaft's whiplash, he didn't seem deterred in offering his opinion.

"What about that, my king?" he asked, pointing toward the massive stones. "It seems to be what's causing the earthquakes."

Fury spread across the chief's face once more, out of reflex from being challenged, but after a few seconds he calmed down slightly, acceding to the validity of his point.

"Very well, Pauli," Keōua eventually said, albeit through gritted teeth. "Take ten men and investigate this 'Dance' of hers. The rest of you…bathe this valley in _blood!_ "

But the moment he gave the order, the tremors returned, even worse than the last. Losing his balance, the chief came within a hair's breadth of impaling himself on his own held blade, only managing at the last moment to twist it away from him.

Still, that moment of distraction was all that was needed for all Hell to break loose.

They burst from the trees with a fury of shrieks and bellows – hundreds more _menehune,_ fully regrouped and reorganized, as if they _hadn't_ been completely routed that same night. It seemed they'd missed a few in their battle shortly after sundown, and the intervening seven hours or so had been enough for them to multiply back into a swarm.

Either way, they seemed to be ignoring the gargoyles entirely, this time. Indeed, they didn't seem interested in _attacking,_ in general.

Which didn't make their frantic scurrying about the clearing, up and down the trees and around the still-widening ravine…any less chaotic.

It was pandemonium, as Keōua struggled to be heard over the din of their high-pitched chattering, and his warriors struggled to avoid the oncoming tidal wave of little brown men. The _menehune_ weren't actively assaulting anyone, but if one of the humans managed to step on one – which was _not_ a particularly difficult thing to do – it provoked a dozen of his friends into jabbing at the offender with tiny spears, screaming and shaking their pea-sized fists.

This often provoked a chain reaction, as one warrior gasping in pain knocked into another, who in turn fell upon a group of _menehune._ The fact that this was happening all around the crack in the ground was what made it _truly_ dangerous.

Zafira wasn't sure what to do about any of this, but she also didn't get a chance to make a decision. A hand fell upon her shoulder, and she turned around with a start.

It was the warrior from a few minutes earlier. The one who'd been called "Pauli."

He held a finger to his lips. "Right now, while he's distracted," he said, his voice barely audible. "This might be our only chance."

The Mayan gargoyle looked around in shock, to see the rest of the men Pauli had gathered – ten in all – looking toward her expectedly. Two of them were supporting John Young and the queen, who both had superficial wounds, while two others accompanied the beasts; both of whom were dimly growling, but begrudgingly cooperative.

And the other six were all working together to lift Honua's limp, bleeding form, carrying her with the best approximation of balance as they could.

"Come now, _Nawao,_ " he urged her again, shooting an anxious glance at Keōua, who was frantically batting away a dozen _menehune_ he'd inadvertently antagonized. "Quickly!"

Seeing no other options, Zafira looked back upon the clearing as well – and at the still-worsening gap in the earth.

Then she followed Pauli and his men out of the clearing.

[-]

Māui coughed and sputtered as he finally regained consciousness. Unfortunately, the waking world provided no greater advantage than his impromptu slumber – either way, he still saw only darkness.

He tried to raise his hands to his cheeks, to double-check that he wasn't still shapeshifted into the form of the blind Tele'a, but found his wrists and ankles shackled tightly together. He wrenched and pulled, mustering all his semi-divine strength, but only succeeded at rubbing his limbs raw.

Iron, then. Wonderful.

As a halfling, he wasn't _quite_ as helpless in the face of iron as a full-fledged Child of Oberon might be – but chains were still chains. Without his magic, he had little chance of breaking them.

So instead, he concentrated on trying to perceive _some_ clue from his pitch-black surroundings. Even without his powers, Māui was a hunter and tracker second to none…if you didn't ask his brothers, anyway.

But they were just jealous; always had been. He alone was considered a hero among mortals, tales of his feats passed down from generation to generation. He alone had inherited their grandmother's magic jawbone, and used it to conquer the sun itself.

And he alone had won the hand of their half-sister Hina, whose beauty had been so legendary that she'd had to escape to the moon to fend off her suitors.

Māui found himself sighing wistfully. He'd seen so little of Hina these last few centuries, meeting her only in the brief periods between the "death" of one of his gargoyle personae, and the "birth" of the next.

For the most part, she understood. He _needed_ to atone for the unintended consequences of his sun stunt. And time meant very little to an immortal like her.

But Māui _would_ die, someday. He had no idea what his natural lifespan might turn out to be, in the end, though he certainly didn't _feel_ all that much older.

Still, that was the nature of being a shapeshifter, he supposed. For all he knew, he'd keel over tomorrow without any warning.

The demigod shook his head, feeling his hefty mane fall out of place and cover his face. This wasn't the time to be thinking about that sort of thing. And in any event, he was going off on a tangent.

Willing himself to focus, Māui zeroed in on his ears and nose, trying to pick up even the faintest sensation. For a while, this was about as fruitful as the time he'd been distracted by an upcoming battle, and attempted to glide off a cliff in his _human_ form.

But after a few moments, he realized there was a noise he could just barely hear – one that was, presently, a good distance away, but growing closer by the moment. A squelching, pulsating sound…like something trying to undulate along the ground, despite very much _not_ being built for the purpose.

And at the rate it seemed to be moving, it'd be on top of him in less than a minute.

Soon enough, he was able to smell it as well: a foul, putrid stench, rising up from every direction. It appeared the creature, whatever it was, had managed to surround him.

Then, suddenly, the darkness before him was pierced by something so bright it was almost blinding. Māui forced his eyes to adjust, and soon found he could see himself again – though filtered through a pallid, sickly glow.

With more trepidation than he was willing to admit, the demigod slowly directed his gaze upward…

To see a single, enormous yellow eye, staring back at him unblinkingly.

"Well, well, well…" a raspy voice hissed. "Looks who's come to play."

The voice was vividly, almost _disturbingly_ familiar, but Māui wasn't able to place it immediately. The monster seemed to realize this, and chuckled – a gurgling, disgusting sound.

"Forget an old friend so easily, Māui?" it said, the eye moving about slightly as the _thing_ it was attached to shifted its enormous weight. From the glow, he could just barely make out the hazy outline of the rest of the creature, and one thing was clear: it was _big._ "I'm _hurt._ Not as hurt as when you _killed_ me, of course. But for a so-called 'hero of mortals'? I bet that barely even narrows it _down._ "

The monster leaned in, appearing to unhinge something like massive jaws. Its breath washed over Māui, and for a moment it felt to him as if every hair in his body was about to fall out.

"Of course…" it added, its voice lilted with humorless laughter. "I'll bet _Hina_ remembers…"

Māui instantly snapped to attention, the pieces all falling into place.

" _You_ …" he whispered, through gritted teeth. "But…But I…"

"Killed me? Yes, we _just_ established that. Do try to keep up, _hero,_ " replied the creature, snarling the last word with mocking disdain. "But really, now. Don't you realize where you _are?_ "

The halfling had a fairly good guess, at this point, though he preferred not to voice it aloud if he could help it. In any case, however, that hadn't been his main objection.

"I didn't just _kill_ you," he said. "I cut you into a million pieces. Tossed your mangled body into the sea. Buried your hairs and guts. Stained the trees forever with your blood."

" _You think I don't remember that?!_ " it roared, suddenly a mere foot or two away from his face.

He could see _both_ of its eyes now, and in their intense glow could make out the very tip of its snout. A great dollop of slime slipped off of it and landed on Māui's bound legs, causing him to very nearly vomit.

"It wasn't enough for you to simply _slay_ me!" continued the monster, its voice _vibrating_ with rage. "You had to _destroy_ me! _Humiliate_ me! You, a puny half-breed, conquering I – a full-fledged Child of Papatūānuku!"

The creature seemed to tense up, as if forcing itself to release all of its pent-up anger, before finally letting loose another, disgusting breath. With more squelching sounds, it backed away, raising its head so that it towered above its quarry.

"But _now,_ the rules have changed," it told him, returning to its confident, arrogant tone. "You see, things down here are… _under new management,_ shall we say. And Our Lord has _great_ plans for you, my dear Māui."

"So…you work for _him,_ now," said the demigod, practically spitting the word. "Guess it makes sense. You're practically a lizard already – just without the legs, and an extra mountain of slime."

"Make your little jokes as much as you like," it responded with a sneer. "It won't save you. Especially since He's given me permission to…how should I put it? Ah, yes…to have a little _fun_ with you first."

Māui glowered upon the massive beast's visage, standing firm with every fiber of his being.

"Do your worst, Te Tunaroa," he taunted his old enemy. "It'll be _nothing_ compared to what I've had to deal with in the mortal world."

The God of Eels unleashed one more hissing, wheezing laugh, raising its serpentine body to full height. At the same time, its slimy coils constricted with bone-crushing pressure, and Māui had to steel himself to keep from screaming in agony.

"Oh, don't you worry, little Māui," it whispered, pure vindictiveness dripping from every last utterance. "I _fully_ intend to. Because right now…you're in a place with no one to help you…"

Its body squeezed even tighter.

"A place with no _hope_ …"

Tighter.

"A place with no _future_ …"

 _Tighter._

"A place the gods _themselves_ have given up on," finished Te Tunaroa, now keening gleefully in victory. "Oh, we're going to have _so_ much fun together, Māui. Down here in…"

 **Hawaiki, 1790 A.D.**


	5. Episode V: Pele

_**Gargoyles: TimeDancer – Hawaiki – Episode V: Pele**_

 _Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Gargoyles. All Gargoyles-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Disney, Greg Weisman, and Frank Paur._

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

Zafira had to give herself credit. She managed a full two minutes before she blurted out one of the dozens of questions on her mind.

"Why did you help us?" she asked the young human, her eyes anxiously darting both forward and back, to ensure they weren't being followed. "You're disobeying the orders of your chief."

"He ordered that we kill you," he said, keeping his own gaze directed straight ahead. "He did not say how quickly. And besides…"

He clutched tightly at his spear, before muttering through pursed lips, "You and the other _Nawao_ saved our lives last night. That debt must be repaid."

This explanation seemed reasonable on the surface, but it didn't sit quite right with Zee for some reason. It took her a few minutes to realize why.

"But _you_ were the one who suggested Keōua smash us after daybreak," she pointed out, unable to keep herself from glancing at the ever-lightening sky. They couldn't have more than an hour at this point.

The man whom Keōua had called "Pauli" didn't even break stride.

"Because at that point, I thought that was the most merciful fate left to you. Keōua does not change his mind lightly. Or _ever,_ in my experience," he explained in clipped tones, as if this was the silliest of questions. "Then, circumstances changed, and I took advantage of them."

"I asked this earlier…" said Zafira, her brow ridges furrowed. "But maybe you'll have a better answer. _Why_ do you follow such a wretched man?"

"Because Kamehameha is worse," responded Pauli. "And because, at the moment…there are no better contenders."

"I will be honest, and say I find that _very_ hard to imagine," she told him. "How can you be so sure?"

Finally, he turned to regard her, his _cacao-_ brown eyes betraying not even the slightest _shred_ of doubt.

"My name is Pauli Ka'ōleiokū," he declared. "And I know because he is my father."

[-]

 **Pu'u Honua o Hōnaunau, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

By the time the trio of gargoyles finally touched down upon the place of refuge, the color of the sky was already at least two shades brighter.

Benuthet was the first to land, feeling incredibly grateful to finally have dirt beneath his feet again, and Brooklyn and Makani followed suit a few seconds later.

"Oh, _jalapeña_ that feels good," said Brooklyn, collapsing backward upon the soft grass and allowing his long white hair to get tangled up in it. "Next time we decide to spend over half the night on one long glide, let's…like, _not._ "

As she typically did when the Scottish gargoyle engaged in what he oft-termed "future lingo," Makani looked confused.

" _Hāleipeinia?_ " she repeated, tilting her head. "What is a ' _hāleipeinia_ '? I thought you said you told me your entire story."

"And I did! Well…the important parts, anyway. I mean, if I sat down and told you _every_ minor detail we'd be here until Benny and Zee were having great-grand-eggs," Brooklyn replied, holding up his claws defensively. "Anyway, they're a food we have in my time. But our clan just kinda adopted it, sorta like a swear word."

Her confusion hadn't lessened.

"Oh. Guess you don't have those, then? Well, long arm of history says _that_ won't last long," he continued on, scratching at his head. "It's just…y'know. A way to say that something's either really good or _reeeeeeally_ bad."

"Wh… _Why_ would you use the same word for both of those things?" Makani seemed unable to help herself from asking. There was a bit of exasperation in her raspy voice now.

"Because English is a really squirrelly language?" said Brooklyn with a shrug. "Besides, doesn't _aloha_ mean hello, goodbye, _and_ 'I love you'? I think I read that once."

" _Aloha_ doesn't 'mean' any single word. It's a feeling, a _spirit,_ " she attempted to explain. "It's like the creator. You can't label it or give it limits. It just… _is._ The native humans seem – _seemed_ – to understand, but the _hāʻole_ …"

She didn't finish her sentence. Brooklyn gave her a few moments before piping up again, "I've been wondering for a while about that. That word…I guess it means 'foreigner' or something?"

"Yes…and no," Makani answered him, her beak tilted into a slight frown. "Literally, it means 'no breath.' The humans who came from Hawaiki use the _honi_ as their greeting – touching noses and exchanging the breath of life. The pale-faced ones do not. Some believe this is because they have no breath at all; no souls."

"I see…" murmured Brooklyn plaintively. "I guess if you literally didn't think your opponents were alive, it wouldn't do much to foster diplomacy. Explains why guys like Keōua seem so hostile about it."

Makani sighed deeply. "Sometimes I look at the humans, and think it's in their very _nature_ to divide, and hate, and ostracize. _Especially_ amongst their own kind," she said, lying on her back and staring up at the starry sky. "The _kapu_ system forces roles on them before they're even _born,_ and violating those roles means death. I know less about the politics or religion of the _hāʻole_ …but somehow I doubt they have it much better."

"Generally speaking, for _this_ time period? No…not really," Brooklyn felt compelled to tell her.

Suddenly, she rolled over to face him, her eyes shimmering with a slight wetness. "Does…Does it ever get _better?_ Can you at least tell me that much?" she asked, her breath hitched.

At first blush, the TimeDancer wasn't certain how deeply he should answer that question. Even more than what he'd already revealed, that was potentially some _very_ dangerous info to leave around the timestream.

Still, it was hard to deny the _earnestness_ in her eyes. The drive that made her _want_ to hope for a better future – no matter how much reality tried to weather that hope down.

Ultimately, he decided to say, "In some ways, yes. Some ways, no. The time I come from is so… _different_ from this one. Most of humanity has forgotten us; forgotten Oberon's Children. We're myths and legends at best. Sometimes it seems like a world that's darker and crueler than ever before…and I'm originally from a period history _literally_ calls 'The Dark Ages.'"

Brooklyn took a deep breath, clutching instinctively at his sword for support as he continued, "But there's so much more than that, too. My home, Manhattan…it's a place where I've seen humanity at their worst, _and_ at their best. I've seen strangers coming together in times of tragedy. I've seen people with the busiest lives you can imagine, spending their free time feeding the hungry. I've seen love soften the edges of the dirtiest human I'd ever met."

He matched her earlier sigh, both in length and in tone.

"Don't get me wrong. They'll never be perfect – but then, neither are we," stated Brooklyn, his mind abound with examples he consciously decided _not_ to share. "But yeah. If your question is, does it get _any_ better? Then I'd say yes. Yes, a thousand times over."

Slowly, Makani nodded her head up and down once, seeming to accept that answer. But her face still looked stricken.

Eventually, she gave voice to her continued doubts with a quiet, "And…Hawai'i? What happens to my home? I think you mentioned knowing of it last night."

Brooklyn hesitated. This was an even dicier subject than the last. But after thinking it over for a few minutes, he decided the harm was relatively low.

After all, this was a subject he didn't really _know_ enough to "spoil" very much.

"Err…do you know what the United States is?" he said, deciding that was the best place to start.

Makani nodded again. "Some of the _hāʻole_ traders come from there," she responded. "I know little else, except that they're a young nation. And that I honestly can't tell its people apart from those of that _Pulikēn_ land."

"Right…it's 1790, I keep forgetting. So they've only been independent for a little while at this point," Brooklyn mused to himself. "Anyway, my home – Manhattan – is located in one of its states, New York. And Hawaii…sorry, _Hawai'i_ …is another one. The last one to join, I think."

The tattooed gargoyle took this all in silently, her expression unreadable.

"So, after all this struggle…this civil war…" she whispered, claws digging into the soft earth. "We survive only as vassals to a foreign power. Perhaps…I should feel fortunate we survive at all."

A ragged, uneven breath escaped her throat. "Or… _do_ we survive?" asked Makani, sounding like she barely dared even _speak_ this question. "Do _we?_ "

Brooklyn grasped her meaning immediately, but wasn't really sure how to respond.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, he said only, "I've…never heard of a Hawaiian Clan in my time, to be honest. But wait, don't get me wrong! Like I said, by then pretty much nobody knows about us. All surviving clans are in hiding. Hell, Zee's clan is still kicking around, and we had _no_ clue until my leader showed up right on their doorstep."

Makani didn't seem fully satisfied with that answer, but she also didn't seem willing to challenge him on it. Either way, the disquiet on her face remained.

Before Brooklyn could think upon how to address this, however, another figure touched down in front of them.

"I won't pose the same question to you on my behalf, my friend," spoke Benuthet, his tones patient and understanding. "If only because I'm not sure I'd like the answer."

"Benny!" exclaimed Brooklyn, as he and Makani both pulled themselves to their feet. Belatedly, he realized he hadn't seen the scholar in several minutes. "Where'd _you_ run off to?"

"This didn't seem a subject on which my own… _expertise_ would be very suitable," the leonine gargoyle replied. "So I excused myself to scout the area a bit. I didn't find any particularly good sleeping spots, however. The ground is fairly level, and lacks for caves or other obvious hiding places."

"I already know where we need to roost," said Makani, an uncharacteristic measure of self-assuredness leaking into her voice. "We won't be hiding. We'll be protected by the one place even the worst blasphemer wouldn't _dare_ touch."

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"The usurper has never claimed me," said Pauli. "But I am clearly of his issue. He forced himself upon my mother – his aunt – the high chiefess Kānekapōlei, while she was still married to King Kalaniʻōpuʻu. I was the result of that wretched union."

Most of these Hawaiian names had started to blend into each other for Zee, but one stuck out. "That king…" she muttered. "Isn't that who Keōua called his father?"

The young prince nodded. "With Keōua Kū'ahu'ula, I share a mother…and in all manners but blood, I share a father," he told her. "I suppose for your kind, that I have two fathers wouldn't be so unusual. But only _one_ was the rightful king. The other is a pretender…a traitorous _fool._ My half-brother may not be perfect, but he will be a king of Hawai'i, _for_ Hawai'i. Not for the next _hāʻole_ to show him fancy trinkets."

"We have no interest in manipulating Kamehameha," interjected John Young, causing Zee to momentarily jump; she'd forgotten he and the queen were still there, walking a few steps behind. "I rather doubt we _could._ Whatever you think of your father, you can't deny he stands by his convictions."

"Convictions that'll get us all _killed,_ if he isn't stopped," Pauli shot back, not bothering to disguise his obvious disgust toward the foreigner. "I was _there,_ you know, when your nation's _Kap'ken Kūk_ kidnapped the king and tried to hold him hostage. I was only eleven, and yet that day I _knew._ I knew what kind of savages you all are."

"What happened with James Cook was… _unfortunate,_ " said Young. "What happened with my former employer, Simon Metcalfe, was even worse. I fully acknowledge these failings. But I still contend that robust foreign trade and diplomacy will benefit your kingdom far more than isolationism, in the long run."

"And even if that _wasn't_ the case, nephew…" the queen jumped in, her haughty face demonstrating little patience for the young man's exhortations. "We no longer have a _choice_ in the matter. You and Keōua live in a fantasy world, where the waves of time can be somehow rolled back. We either adapt to the _hāʻole,_ or we get buried in their wake. Ignoring them won't suddenly make them all go away."

Pauli didn't look pleased by her words.

"Of everyone here, Ka'ahumanu, I thought _you_ might understand," he stated bluntly. "But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You've been chained to the side of that fool for nine years now. Being his son is bad enough – I can't even _imagine_ lying with him."

"I apologize for having the foresight to look at the bigger picture," she responded, her tones dry and condescending. "Something distinctly lacking in many of our people right now. Given your brilliance, and our king's need for an heir…I was hoping _you_ might be an exception. So consider us _both_ disappointed."

Despite himself, that actually brought Pauli to a momentary pause.

"He's…considered me as an heir?" he was unable to stop himself from asking, lips barely moving as he formed the words.

But it didn't last long. The choler in his face reasserted itself, stronger than ever, as he said dismissively, "Nonsense. If the usurper sees fit to designate a successor, it will be one of _your_ brats. Or perhaps one by our niece, Keōpuolani. Either way, he'll desire a purer bloodline than one continued through a bastard."

Ka'ahumanu just shook her head, as if expressing pity.

"That's the problem with men like you and Keōua. Shackling yourselves to the ancient ways…" she mused aloud, letting out a lengthy sigh. "Even when _you_ are the ones hurt by them most of all."

"And what exactly do you mean by _that?_ " demanded Pauli.

The queen affixed him with a distinctly judging glare. "Come now. I _know_ you're not so slow, cousin," she said. "Your woes, Keōua's, those of my husband…they all have, at their roots, a single source. And it's not the _hāʻole._ Indeed, the fact that _they_ don't have it holding them back is their single greatest advantage over our people. We have a chance to learn from their example, and we _should._ "

The young prince stared at her for some time. Then, his eyes went wide, almost bulging.

"Y…You can't _possibly_ mean…" he murmured.

"The _kapu_ system is a relic. And the sooner we abandon it, the sooner Hawai'i will be ready to take its rightful place on the world stage," she continued on, ignoring his comment completely. "This, I assure you, is the truth."

Pauli, for his part, looked nearly ready to collapse. "You try to convince me the usurper wants what's best for our islands…" he spat out, his tones rambling and barely coherent. "And then you say he wishes to _abandon_ the _kapu_ system?!"

But Ka'ahumanu just stared at him, before releasing one more, pitying sigh.

"I didn't say anything about my _husband_ wanting to end _kapu,_ " she said quietly.

The bastard prince didn't seem to have anything to say in response to that – or if he did, he wasn't in a state of mind to put it into words.

So it was in deeply uncomfortable silence that they made it the rest of the way toward those strange, towering stones.

[-]

 **Pu'u Honua o Hōnaunau, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

Makani led the other two gargoyles toward the ocean, which surrounded the _pu'u honua_ on nearly all sides, giving way to white sands and eventually large expanses of uneven black rock.

And perched at the edge of one of these beaches, surrounded by a short wall of those same black stones, was a small thatched building.

Statues, both wood and stone and carved with great detail, surrounded the building, while a grove of palm trees stood behind. It was adjacent to a number of even more intricate structures, though all seemed long-abandoned.

And yet…it was _far_ from devoid of life. There was an energy here, a _power,_ that defied any kind of description.

"This is the _Hale o Keawe,_ " Makani told them in a low voice. "The remains of the chiefs of Kona have been stored here for over a hundred years. It's said the _mana_ of their bones is one of the reasons this became a place of refuge."

Benuthet nodded slowly. As both a scholar and a sorcerer, Brooklyn knew he took these sorts of things _very_ seriously.

"Just to make sure…" said the Scottish gargoyle, scrutinizing the thatched building. "You want us to sleep…"

"In front of the _heiau,_ yes," Makani cut in, now approaching the wall slowly, with reverence. It only reached up to about their waists, but it still felt like something was a little… _off_ as they climbed over it. "If there's a single safe place left for us on this island, it's here. Surrounded by effigies of the _akua_ – including Kāne, to whom we are sacred."

"Don't suppose we might go too far the _other_ direction?" asked Brooklyn. "Piss off some of these Children by invading their turf?"

The Hawaiian gargoyle looked hesitant for a moment, before shaking her head. "No, I don't think so," she answered. "The humans have marked this as a place for the dead. That means, ultimately, that it falls under the protection of Kanaloa – the god of the sea, who guides departed humans to the underworld. So long as we are respectful, we should have no quarrel from him."

"Kanaloa is one of the few… _akua_ we had records of at Alexandria," said Benuthet, as they both slowly followed her lead. "It was only a brief mention, but their pantheon was noted as one of the few to send two vassals to Avalon: Kāne and Kanaloa both."

"They are brothers. Twins. All they've ever done has been equal and intertwined," Makani explained, gesturing to statues of both gods that flanked either side of the temple. "The _kinolau_ of one have nothing to fear from the other."

Brooklyn shrugged his shoulders as they assumed positions between the grand statues, readying themselves for the sunrise that was likely to come any moment now.

"I guess you know better than we would," he remarked, pushing down any lingering feelings of unease. He'd _said_ he trusted her, and he needed to prove he meant it.

About five minutes later, the sun rose over the _pu'u honua o Hōnaunau,_ and three more figures of stone joined the others surrounding the _Hale o Keawe._

Leaving none around who were able to notice, just for a moment, as the rays of dawn passed over it…

A faint glow flitting across the Kanaloa statue's eyes.

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

A short while earlier, straight on the other side of the island, the party led by Zafira and Pauli Ka'ōleiokū finally emerged into a new clearing.

It hadn't been hard to find, since the strange standing stones towered over the tree tops at such a height that it was impossible to miss them, no matter where one was in the valley.

Now they'd arrived at the base of the ring, and if nothing else Zee could tell immediately that this was no natural formation. For one thing, the stones – four in all – were interspersed at precisely even intervals, surrounding a circular platform that was slightly raised. That platform featured a number of dense carvings a few feet above the base, resembling heavily stylized faces.

The surrounding red soil showed clear signs of having been disturbed, and clung to the entire formation in dirty clumps. If it didn't seem to be impossible, given the height of the thing, Zee almost could've sworn that…

"It seems we know why the _menehune_ were here," said Pauli, frowning. "Clearly, this structure was recently unearthed."

"That…does not seem physically possible," John Young pointed out as he sat down, nursing his earlier wound. Ka'ahumanu did the same, though unlike the Englishman she eschewed any help from Pauli's men in doing so. "There is no crater, the quantity of displaced soil is far too low…"

"If a human was doing the digging, perhaps," Pauli cut him off. "But the _menehune_ work wonders. Even if these stones were hidden through magic – and I'm almost certain they were – it would be little trouble for their tools to reveal it."

His eyes looked the nearest stone up and down, before adding in a stern voice, "The _real_ question we should be asking is _what_ this all is."

"That one…" the queen stated, nodding her head to the unconscious Honua. She was still breathing, shallowly, but there was no question moving her had worsened her stabbing wound considerably. "She referred to it as a 'Dance.' And said its arrival came 'too soon.'"

Now Young was looking quizzical. "Dance…a stone 'Dance'…" he quietly mused, giving the formation another careful glance. "Geoffrey of Monmouth called Stonehenge by the name 'The Giant's Dance,' and attributed its construction to the great wizard Merlin. It's a not entirely dissimilar structure in my homeland."

Zafira stayed silent; the sailor already seemed to know more than made her comfortable, and she didn't want to give him _too_ many more pieces of the puzzle.

But inwardly, her thoughts were racing. They _had,_ in fact, seen structures like these before – on Dances to locales as diverse as ancient Babylon and the Himalayan mountains. _Dances_ …was the shared word a coincidence? As far as she was aware, Brooklyn had come up with the term for his adventures himself, so it probably was.

And yet…

"Not that any of this helps us without the knowledge to tap into it," said Pauli, breaking through her brief reverie. "None of my men are experienced in sorcery, and I doubt any of _you_ have it much different."

"My mate is an accomplished magician," responded Zee, deciding that much would be safe to share; he didn't exactly try to _hide_ it, after all. "But he is… _otherwise_ occupied, at the moment."

Kebechet seemed to sense they were talking about her partner, because she came up to Zafira's side and made a low whining sound. With care she petted and scratched both the Egyptian beast and Fu-Dog, whose unhappiness at being separated from Brooklyn – even for a single night – was equally palpable.

"It'll be alright…" she whispered to the pair, doing her best to shave off the warrior's edge to her voice and sound soothing. "We'll see them again soon. Just hold on a little longer."

While she'd never raised a beast herself, traveling with Brooklyn and Benuthet had given her a great deal of… _perspective_ on the matter. There was something innately comforting about their simple, primal loyalty; the sheer _love_ they expressed, each and every night, drawn from a supply that somehow only seemed to _increase_ with time.

Quietly, she sighed. If only she'd been able to keep one of those adorable "lemur" creatures from their Dance to Madagascar.

She shook a mental fist at the injustice of it all.

In any event, John Young's beady eyes were now upon the horizon. "It seems that if we want to learn more of this formation, then only _one_ of us holds the answers," he said, gesturing to Honua's mangled body. "And she's clearly in no state to give them now. But sunrise can't be more than a few minutes away. Her kind are able to heal from wounds while resting in stone."

Zafira didn't bother to ask how he knew that. If he was able to recognize "Scottish stock" by sight, then all bets were off.

"I was worried she might not make it that long. But if there's one thing I can say for her at this point, it's that she's stubborn as hell," he continued on. "It might be best, however…if all we humans cleared out before she wakes up. If she's beside a member of her own kind, she may be more… _forthcoming._ "

Pauli's eyes narrowed. "I do not trust you, _hāʻole,_ " he growled, not moving an inch. "You're trying to manipulate us into a position where you can take advantage. As your kind _always_ does."

"And perhaps I am," replied Young, whose patience seemed to be wearing thin. There was an edge now to his nominally polite tones that hadn't been there a few minutes ago. "But that doesn't change the fact that it's the truth. I'm sure your men were watching for at least a _few_ minutes before Keōua struck. You heard this clan leader speak. She hates _all_ humans, regardless of skin color or patron."

The boatswain crossed his fingers together for a moment, before saying in a quieter voice, "And besides…it wasn't _hāʻole,_ or men loyal to Kamehameha, who turned one of her clan into a trophy of war."

Pauli actually took a step back, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face.

"How do you know about that?" he demanded in a harsh whisper. "That was _long_ before you came here."

Now the sailor's expression was a mirror of his queen's, in terms of sheer disdain for the young prince. "My king trusts me a great deal," he answered. "And I am _very_ resourceful."

Pauli's handsome features twisted into something heavily unpleasant as he stood there, seething, his anger spiking to an intense boil in response to how he was being treated. Yet that anger fought with a mind that, far more than Keōua's, was inherently rational and strategic.

"We will separate when the sun rises, _hāʻole,_ and spend the day as we will. Then, tonight, both our parties shall return – _just_ those men already here," said the prince. "We'll give the _Nawao_ one hour past sundown to retrieve the necessary knowledge."

Young considered this, tapping at his sallow chin thoughtfully. "And then?" he asked.

"And then…we shall let things fall where they may," murmured Pauli, his expression hard.

The boatswain thought this over a few minutes more, before turning to the queen expectantly. "In the absence of our king, I believe you are the best one to make this decision," he told her.

Ka'ahumanu's own eyes scanned across the clearing, resting for a moment on several faces – first Young's, then Pauli's, and finally on Zee's own. Then, wordlessly, she nodded.

That was the last thing Zafira remembered seeing before the sun's rays poked out between the towering stones.

[-]

 **Pu'u Honua o Hōnaunau, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

The moment the sun rose over the _Hale o Keawe,_ a mighty figure materialized before it.

Kāne, the god of light and life, had done very little since his excursion to China the previous day. Unlike many of his fellow vassals, even nearly eight centuries later he had difficulty fulfilling his Lord's edict and fitting in with mortals.

The Jade Emperor, Zeus, Ra…all of them could slip in and out of a mortal guise with astonishing ease, like they were changing into a costume. Constructing in an instant not only the _appearance_ of a human or gargoyle alias, but an entire personality as well – complete with fictional history, preferences, and demeanor.

Even many of his fellow _akua_ excelled over him in that regard. His daughter Pele was infamous for her human guises, assumed so that she could leave her mountains and parlay with mortals – to test them, or to take on male paramours.

And of course, when it came to his son-in-law Māui…

Kāne shook his head, as he found himself approaching the _heiau,_ looking upon the sleeping gargoyles who'd unintentionally invoked his presence _._ It was different for him. _Not_ because he lacked the necessary skills or magic, of course. The form he chose as a default, after all, _was_ a mixture of mortal traits, if taller and broader than most.

No, it was because living _with_ the mortals – interacting with them, day after day, exchanging banal conversation and sharing crafts and meals – brought up so many harsh memories.

Memories of old wounds. Of old mistakes.

Memories that, after over fifteen hundred years…still hurt as if they were yesterday.

Unconsciously, his hand reached out to touch two of the _ki'i_ statues surrounding the temple. His lips formed names that were invoked by the humans of these islands every single day.

Names that _he,_ greatest and most powerful of the gods…could scarcely any longer stand to whisper.

" _Kū_ …" he said, hating how weak and ragged his voice came out. " _Lono_ …"

The war against their mother, Papahānaumoku – or as she was better known to the rest of the world, Queen Mab – had exacted a heavy toll on the _akua,_ but none had felt the wound so acutely as her first four sons.

They'd lost everything… _everything_ …by allying with their usurping half-brother, and helping to overthrow their tyrant of a mother. That it was the _right_ call was little comfort.

It had still cost them their home, their status…and, in two of their cases…

Hands the size of enormous breadfruits clenched into tight fists.

Yet, despite everything, Kāne found he couldn't blame the earth goddess entirely. She may have struck the final blow toward the gods of war and peace alike, but the path to that fateful night had been a long one, filled with a thousand smaller deaths.

Almost all of them self-inflicted.

It'd started off grand and wonderful, as all creation does. They'd been young then, relatively speaking; brash and raw and impulsive. They delighted in each new creature, each new vine or fern or tree, that they managed to craft, challenging each other to bring forth ever more glorious wonders.

But then…something had changed. Kāne still really wasn't sure what. They'd begun to argue more about the little details, numbers of spots or thinness of leaves, and more and more frequently those arguments turned into divine-scale fights, with two or more of them refusing to speak for decades at a time.

It'd happened so slowly at first, so gradually, that they'd failed to notice the warning signs until it was already too late. By then, the four brothers – who had once been so close – could barely stand to be near each other.

Still, Kāne had tried, valiantly, to salvage what remained of their relationship. One of the reasons for their rift, he'd come to realize, was that the others resented him for his _kinolau._ Wild beasts and herbs were all well and good, but he was patron to _both_ the First and Second Races – those whose brains gave them mastery over all the rest.

Kāne, then, had a solution. They would create one last thing, _together._ A home for those older, weaker races. A place where _all_ their creations could live in harmony.

First, he provided the land, the firmament. Towering mountains and lush, green forests. Everything the mortals could ever need from the _'āina,_ he gave them. Everything and _more._

Then, Kanaloa surrounded this new land with his bountiful oceans. Kāne ensured they would never go hungry on land; his twin promised the same by sea. He provided bountiful winds to catch sails, and waves the perfect height for surfing.

Kū's and Lono's gifts were less… _concrete,_ but no less valuable. The god of war gave the mortals _drive,_ passed on all the things they needed in order to live and thrive. Kāne and Kanaloa could provide the soil and the fish, but Kū was the one who taught them _how_ to farm, and _how_ to fish. And yes, he also granted them weapons, and strategies, and political knowledge. So that if they ever _needed_ to fight, they _could._

And Lono, finally, provided all the knowledge the others had not – the things, he said, that made mortal life _worth_ living. Song and dance, kinship and family, feasting and sex. He was the god of fertility in more ways than one, and so gifted the mortals with the perfect amount of rain, ensuring the crops his brothers had cultivated would last forever.

All these fantastic things came together to create one, enormous island. The greatest paradise to ever grace the planet Earth, save Avalon herself.

They called it Hawaiki.

At its height, the island nation had housed nearly half a million humans, and over ten thousand gargoyles. To the degree they _ever_ could, the two races lived alongside each other in peace. Their cultures advanced and evolved in twain, learning from each other, relying on each other.

For a time, Kāne thought it might last forever. For a time, Kāne fooled himself into thinking their problems were behind them.

But it was not to be.

In those days, their mother's madness was at its zenith, and Avalon suffered accordingly. By the whims of her mood, their ancestral home might be wracked by drought one minute, and subject to blistering hail the next. Nightmares, both sleeping and waking, plagued all who dared to tread in her domain.

By comparison, Hawaiki started to look awfully tempting.

It was harmless, really, Kāne had tried to justify to himself, as the _akua_ began to spend more and more time living amongst the mortals in their artificial paradise. A year here, a decade there. Just a short respite away from the chaos of their queen's court.

And besides…they _had_ created it. For the mortals, true. But why should they not at least get to _sample_ the fruits of their labors? If only for a little while.

For a time, his stubborn self-denials actually seemed to prove true. Few mortals were even aware that Hawaiki had become a land – perhaps the very first of its kind – where all _three_ races lived alongside each other harmoniously.

But that harmony, if it'd ever _truly_ been anything but a fantasy, was brief and fleeting. With no law of non-interference in place, it was difficult for beings as powerful as they to resist the temptation to make a few… _adjustments,_ here and there.

"The nights are too cold," said Kāne, and he bade the sun bear down a greater warmth.

"The days are too hot," said Kanaloa, and he bade the breeze fly more swiftly.

"The mortals wage too little war," said Kū, and he bade them fight a bloody battle.

"The mortals have too little fun," said Lono, and he bade them lay down their weapons, and lie together.

And so it was, that their brotherly conflicts were rekindled – if they'd ever truly been doused at all, rather than merely delayed. But now, thousands of humans and gargoyles were caught in the middle.

Each complimentary pair of twins had it especially rough. More and more, what Kāne wanted for the mortals stood in direct contradiction to what Kanaloa desired, and so too was it with Kū and Lono.

Day and night, war and peace; these were each two sides of the same stone, and could not exist without the other. But it was a constant struggle, back and forth and back again.

Kū and Lono had actually decided to formalize it, dividing the year between equal seasons of peace and war. To this day, the humans of Hawai'i observed those seasons with reverence.

But when the gods themselves had lived, it'd proved a far better idea in theory than in practice. The brothers were constantly arguing, trying to extend their time of ascendance and encroach on the other's.

Kū was most often the instigator, claiming that this war season or the next "did not count" because the mortals had barely fought at all; Hawaiki was so abundant in land and resources that there was almost never any _need_ to. But Lono was far from blameless. He would interfere _constantly_ in times of war – most frequently, by taking mortal form and sleeping with the warriors, to sap their strength and drive.

And as for him and Kanaloa…

Kāne shook his head. He preferred not to talk about that.

He was looking upon the sea god's effigy now, contemplating all of this. Of course, the four of them – and their extended family, which in Hawaiki's glory days had numbered _hundreds_ – had all been close, once upon a time. But none more so than the brother he'd been born alongside.

A brother he hadn't seen since the night Hawaiki sank beneath the waves forevermore.

"I wish that I could see you, brother," he found himself saying, holding onto the oar he carried like it was all that kept him standing. Like so many of their craftworks, the twins had made it together. "One last time. If only…If only so that I…"

That was all he managed to utter before the glow returned in the _ki'i_ statue's eyes.

Then the earth below the god opened, and in a single motion, swallowed him whole.

A few feet away, the three gargoyles slept on.

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

Keōua Kū'ahu'ula wished he could say that he'd spent the day constructively. But like many of the things he tried to tell himself these days, deep inside he _knew_ it was a lie.

It'd taken over an hour past sunrise for him and his men to fully extricate themselves from the swarm of _menehune._ At that point, their course of action should've been clear: to complete the task he'd given them, and rid the valley of _Nawao_ once and for all. As Pauli pointed out, it would've been even _easier_ during the day.

But by then, just about all of his men – not to mention Keōua himself – were bruised, bleeding, and exhausted beyond measure. Unable to summon up the drive to march on, he'd regretfully called for retreat.

Now they were on the beach, beside the boats they'd first arrived on, taking turns alternatively sleeping and licking their wounds.

All except Keōua, anyway. He didn't have time for rest, no matter how tired his body felt, and wouldn't have been able to fall asleep right now even if he did.

He was far too busy trying to figure out what in the world he'd been _thinking._

The previous night was almost entirely a blur. He remembered reflecting upon their rescue, as the only contingent of his army that'd survived Pele's wrath struggled to regroup. He remembered his dismay, that the green _Nawao_ would reject his generosity with such infuriating stubbornness.

He remembered getting so _angry_ …

But after that, it was all just… _flashes._ Bits and pieces at best.

He knew he'd gathered his remaining men to stage an all-out assault on the Waimanu Valley. He knew he'd stabbed the _Nawao_ leader through the back with a spear, and dueled personally against their champion. He knew their bout had been interrupted by the sudden appearance of those enormous stones, and that the earthquakes connected to them had claimed nearly a dozen more of his men.

But he didn't know _why_ he'd done these things. Well…no, that wasn't accurate. He knew the _reason_ why: sheer rage, at the injustice of it all.

That his birthright was in the process of being _stolen_ from him. And that – with nothing to lose, and everything to gain – his best chance at an alliance to take it all back had slapped away his offered hand.

Still, why had those feelings driven him to _this_ extreme? It was _kapu_ to kill a _Nawao,_ except on the battlefield where they could be offered as tribute to Kū. He knew this. He _knew_ this. His attempt to slaughter them tonight was as far from an honorable sacrifice as one could get.

And yet…and _yet_ …

Keōua ground his teeth and let out a long, ragged sigh. Maybe he _did_ need to sleep.

Maybe it would all be clear by the time he woke up.

The moment his eyes slid closed, the prince began to dream.

 _He dreamt of a land of indescribable beauty._

 _The trees were lush and bountiful. The beasts slow and plentiful, nearly effortless to hunt. Cool, clear water flowed about, more than enough for all who needed it, and emptied into blue oceans whose delicious creatures never ran dry._

 _And best of all, it was completely_ free. _Free of the taint of foreign blood._

 _A pang of deep, unyielding_ longing _pierced his heart. That, and something else. A feeling so strong, it threatened to push out everything else. A burning, biting,_ vicious _feeling._

Envy.

 _Why couldn't_ he _taste of this paradise? It was just like before._ Always _like before._

He _would always deny him._ He _would sacrifice anything, if it meant standing in his way._

He _would suffer._

 _That was the only way for that paradise, that shining beacon of perfection, to become a reality._

 _As it had once been, a long time ago…_

These feelings and more swirled around Keōua's mind for the next several hours, twisting and bending and stoking the flames of his hatred until there was scarcely room for anything else.

When he finally awoke once again, the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon. But though he'd all but wasted an entire day's advantage, he couldn't help but smile.

He finally knew what he needed to do.

[-]

 **Pu'u Honua o Hōnaunau, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

Brooklyn, Benuthet, and Makani exploded from their stone shells with a vigorous, pulse-pounding roar.

Well…the first two did, at least. Brooklyn couldn't help but notice Makani sounded more like someone embarrassed of their snoring, and clamping down on its volume the moment she became consciously aware of it.

Nevertheless, he didn't say anything on the subject as he watched her stretch the muscles in her tattooed arm. It struck him in that moment how infrequently he'd seen female gargoyles with her…for lack of better term, _physique._ There was Constance of the London Clan, based on Lex's descriptions, but he'd never met her personally.

Ever since his Dance to the Carpathians, he'd tried to clamp down on his tendency to drool after anything with two breasts and a tail. In _her_ memory, dialing back that stupid crap was pretty much the _least_ he could do.

Still, sometimes it was… _difficult,_ not to stare. He watched as she made heavy footfalls toward the ocean, an audible crunch sounding with each step through the rough sand. Then, without any hesitation, she dunked her head into the water, and upon emerging threw back her mane of curly black hair in a single, satisfying motion.

"Sorry," she said as she returned, the breeze blowing pleasantly through her now-drenched locks. "I just really like the feel of saltwater in my hair after I wake up. That…probably sounds strange to you."

Brooklyn found himself flushing a bit, and hurriedly looked askance. "Oh! Umm…yeah. I mean, no. That's alright," he stammered, through a series of coughs. " _Ahem_ …Trust me, I've seen _way_ weirder. This wouldn't even crack the top twenty."

She wasn't exactly the "type" of girl that most caught his eye, physically speaking. But there was no question that, in her own way…she was _incredibly_ beautiful.

Judging by her awkward expression, Makani seemed to have noticed him staring – despite his best efforts to do otherwise – and decided to change the subject.

"Even if we catch the most favorable winds, the glide to Kīlauea will take us at _least_ another three hours," she told her companions. "So we'd best get moving soon. _Penukek,_ do you feel recovered enough to make the journey?"

"Well, I can't honestly say that I'm _eager_ for it…" replied the scholar, as he took inventory of the contents of his satchel; a nightly ritual by this point, given how much mystic mojo was rattling around in there now. "But capable? Yes, I think so."

"In that case…I suggest we grab some food and water while we can," said Makani, after a deep breath. "We'll leave here in about ten minutes…err, if that's okay with you?"

Both Benny and Brooklyn nodded, and then split off briefly to scour for supplies.

Taking a cue from a trick Zee had shown them in Guatemala with something called a "palm-apple," the TimeDancer picked an armful of coconuts from a nearby palm tree and poked holes in each with a single talon. Then, after draining them of the liquid inside – he wasn't sure what he'd been _expecting_ pure coconut "milk" to taste like, but he quite liked it – he dunked each hollowed-out orb into a stream, until he had about a dozen low-tech water bottles.

As he wrapped them all up in a fallen palm frond for ease of transport, he noticed a single bush growing out of the black rock near the beach, covered with bright red berries. Catching Makani's eye, he waved her over.

"Do you know if these are safe to eat?" he asked her.

Judging by the way Makani's eyes were bulging, she _definitely_ recognized the plant, but it took her a moment to gather her thoughts.

"These are _ʻōhelo ʻai,_ " she said, sounding vaguely awed. "It's unusual to find them this far out to coast. I suppose a _nēnē_ bird probably spread the seeds in its droppings."

The tattooed gargoyle shook her head, realizing she was getting off-track. "Yes, you _can_ eat them. But you shouldn't," she answered him. "They're _kinolau_ of Pele. Eating one and then standing in her presence…"

"Sounds like a great way to get buried in lava. Yeah, I think I get the picture," Brooklyn finished for her.

"But we should still take it with us," continued Makani, as she bent down to – very carefully – remove the bush from its roots. "The entire plant. This is a rare find…her most sacred body form, infused with the _mana_ of this place. As an offering, it might help, err…"

"Smooth things over?" he guessed, with a small smile.

After a second's hesitation, she matched his expression, and nodded once.

"Guess we should count ourselves lucky all we need is a pretty bush," said Brooklyn, as they made their way back to the temple. "The stories I heard were more along the lines of 'toss someone in to appease the volcano goddess.'"

Makani's brow ridges furrowed, as they tended to when she didn't understand his dry remarks. The expression was really starting to grow on him.

"I don't know where you're getting your 'stories' from, but they're a bunch of…erm, well, _nēnē_ droppings," she declared, a bit lamely. "Only one of the _akua_ – Kū, the war god – accepts humans or _Nawao_ as sacrifices. And _only_ if killed in battle. How would you like it if someone simply dumped a corpse into your home, and expected you to devour it?"

"Probably…like I'd wanna bury them in lava," murmured Brooklyn, his beak twitching. "I think I'm starting to get a better idea how she got her rep."

"Pele likes _beautiful_ things. Flowers, food and drink…songs, if you can perform them skillfully," added Makani. "The _only_ part of the body she'll accept is hair, because it contains your _mana._ But a person…I mean, what would she _do_ with them? I'm sorry, I simply can't get over how _silly_ this sounds."

Brooklyn couldn't help himself. He began to chuckle, wheezily and at length, nearly choking on a wad of his coconut-thickened saliva.

"You know, you should really do that more often," he said, once he got control over himself again.

One of her eyebrow ridges rose slightly. "What do you mean?" she asked guardedly.

"Y'know, like…talk like that," the Scottish gargoyle tried to explain, not very well. "Give me a bit of attitude. Don't take this the wrong way, but…it looks good on you."

"Ah, I…I see…" whispered Makani, fumbling for the words a bit. "I suppose, having the three of you as…as _friends_ …"

She took a deep breath, before finishing, "I guess it…it brings out some new sides to me. Sides I haven't felt in a long time."

The pair left it at that as they arrived back at the temple, where Benuthet seemed intensely interested in what looked like a patch of ordinary dirt. He was running the edge of his mammoth-tusk wand along it and whispering softly to himself, and seemed no more aware of their return than of activities on Mars.

Politely but pointedly, Brooklyn cleared his throat.

"Ah! Erm…there you are, my friends," he said, turning his head to face them but leaving his wand in place. "Are we ready to depart? Have we gathered all the supplies we need?"

"I think so," the TimeDancer replied, tying the frond around his shoulder in a rough kind of sling, and gesturing for Makani to add the berried bush to it. "But are _you?_ "

He tipped his claw toward the wand, which was now emitting a very pale blue glow.

"Well…yes and no," stated the scholar, now adopting his trademark thoughtful frown. "There is certainly _something_ that happened at this location where we were asleep. No one even _tried_ to hide the magical 'traces.' But I lack a deep enough understanding of Polynesian sorcery to investigate much further."

"Something?" Brooklyn repeated, tilting his head. "Any way you could be, like…even a _little_ more specific?"

"If I had to hazard a guess…I think a member of the Third Race visited this place at some point during the day," said Benny. "Presumably not a hostile one, since we're still alive. But beyond that, we're purely in the realm of speculation."

"Well that's…interesting," muttered Brooklyn, suppressing a shiver. He supposed that's what they got for sleeping on what was basically an Indian burial ground. "Still, if that's all you can tell…"

"Then there's no reason to remain here, yes. I quite agree," Benuthet interjected with a firm nod. "I'll move this mystery to the back of my mind for now. Perhaps our discussion with Pele will shed some new light on it."

"Sounds like a plan," Brooklyn told them both, turning his gaze to the moonlit sky. "Then let's take one step closer to our horrible, fiery deaths."

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

The awakening of the party next to the stone Dance was simultaneously more and less dramatic than their counterparts.

On the one hand, two of the four gargoyles present were beasts – beasts who had recently been in a number of high-stress situations without their partners, and as a result were each about fit to bursting with pent-up energy.

On the other hand, one of them had just recovered from a vicious stab wound, and upon exploding from stone almost immediately collapsed.

Zafira, who was just waking up herself, hesitated for a moment, but ultimately went over to check on the clan leader. She held very little sympathy for Honua at this point, but it was hard to see _anyone_ in the state she was in.

And in any event…right now, they _needed_ her.

The day's rest had closed her injury, but Honua's breaths still came out ragged and uneven, and her eyes remained half-lidded at best. One arm grasped at her tattered wing as she lay splayed there, helpless, barely conscious of the world around her.

"Honua?" said Zee, as she approached cautiously. "Honua, can you hear me?"

Slowly, as if every second spent doing so was an immense labor, the orange gargoyle's head tilted toward her.

"What's going on?" she demanded, her voice incredibly dry and hoarse. "Where are we? What happened to my…"

Then, suddenly, she seemed to notice something, and her eyes shot wide-open.

"Why…did you bring me _here,_ of all places?" she continued on, struggling and failing utterly to get to her feet. Her eyes, however, never left the stones that towered above them both. "The Dance, it shouldn't… _we_ shouldn't…"

"It's been causing earthquakes all throughout the valley," explained Zafira, backing up a few feet to stand with Fu-Dog and Kebechet now that she was satisfied the clan leader wasn't about to keel over again. "We…err, _I_ was hoping you might know why. And how to stop it."

Phew…that'd been a close one. The entire point of sending the humans away was kind of shot if she started talking like they were a team.

But Honua didn't seem to be paying attention to the question. She was far more focused on trying, against all possible reason, to get up off the ground.

"I…don't think that's going to work," said Zee, as Honua attempted one more time to push herself up with her right arm, only for it to slip and buckle beneath her.

"Don't you think I _know_ that?!" Honua snapped, eyes flashing red. A closed fist slammed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dirt. " _Arrrgh!_ I can barely even _move!_ How am I supposed to protect my clan now?"

"You're going to need to take it easy," Zafira told her. "At least for the next few nights."

"My clan can't _afford_ 'a few nights'!" exclaimed the Hawaiian gargoyle, her invalid state not tempering her sharp tongue even slightly. "Every _second_ I'm not leading them is another second they could all die! I may've been barely conscious, but I _heard_ what Keōua said! He won't rest until my children lie bleeding on the ground!"

Zee found she couldn't really argue with that. It was entirely possible, if almost too horrible to contemplate, that Keōua's armies had _already_ wiped out the Hawaiian Clan. Just like the clan at K'awiilAhPukuh…

The former pendant-bearer shook her head violently. She couldn't afford to think about that now. She just had to hope that between the distraction of the earthquakes and _menehune,_ Pauli's (comparatively) moderating influence, and whatever actions Young and Ka'ahumanu had decided to take in the interim…that the furious prince hadn't gotten the chance to carry out his threats.

"Well, you're not going to be much help to them in _this_ state," Zafira eventually said. "The best you can do is tell me about these stones. If we can stop the earthquakes, then that's at least _one_ less threat to your children."

Honua seemed to be grappling with this fairly compelling logic of this statement, and…something else. Something she clearly didn't want to talk about.

But after nearly a full minute, the corner of her beak opened up, and she murmured, "I…don't know very much about how they work."

"But you know _something,_ " Zee immediately responded, seizing upon the opening. "About what they are. About what they're _doing._ "

Honua's eyes darted about the clearing, as if looking for some kind of escape. Whatever she was seeking, however, she didn't appear to find, as ultimately she let out a long and weary sigh, and leaned back against the grass.

"This is a story that's been passed down my clan for centuries," she said.

Zafira could've sworn that every other sound in the valley became completely still as the clan leader began to speak.

She told her of a beautiful place where humans and gargoyles had once lived together in peace. A gift from the gods to their mortal brethren.

But those very same gods had begun to bicker, and quarrel, and wrestle for control of their creation. Ultimately, full-scale war had broken out across the island.

This, she said, had provided the perfect opportunity for another. An evil god, who coveted this paradise greatly. He struck when its inhabitants were at their weakest, and managed to bring it under his terrifying sway.

Horrified at what they'd wrought, the other gods had no other choice. They combined their powers, and forced their wonderful paradise to sink beneath the ocean waves. To become a part of the Underworld, so that it might serve as the evil one's tomb.

And the mortals, human and gargoyle alike, who'd once called that land home? They'd become voyagers, and together, spread across the smaller, surrounding islands.

Until their homeland was nothing more than a distant memory.

"These…Dances. That's what the previous leader called them when he told me this tale. I've never understood _why,_ " Honua added, saying all of this very softly. She was clearly still exhausted. "In any event, I'm told they're relics from long before humans _or_ Nawao came to these islands. Who left them, I cannot say. Nor do I particularly care."

"But what are they _for?_ " asked Zee, trying to absorb all this.

"I'm getting to that," said Honua, baring her teeth in irritation. "According to the story, they're essentially…centers of power, for mystical energy. And they're all connected. There are formations of stone like this all around the world, and _each_ is linked."

Well, that explained why she'd seen them in such a wide variety of locales and time periods, at least.

"Hawaiki was created artificially. And when it disappeared… _that_ wasn't natural either," the clan leader went on. "It was a spell. The four gods united with mortal sorcerers, using three of these circles at specific points to erect a seal over the ocean."

"That must've been…quite an undertaking," whispered Zafira, remembering her mate's various lectures about the dangers of mixing magicks. For them to have resorted to such a thing, the situation must've been _unimaginably_ severe.

"As I said, I don't fully understand how these structures function," replied Honua, a frown upon her face. "But this, and two others – one on Rapa Nui, and one on Aotearoa – the sorcerers managed to… _alter,_ somehow. Made to respond only to each other. Those circle-stones were the key."

She pointed at a raised dais in the center of the towering stones. Now that Zee looked closer, she realized it looked quite a bit more recent than the pillars surrounding it. Still ancient, but clearly of a different shade and composition than the others.

"They're filled with…we have no word for it in our language. Our ancestors on Hawaiki received them from foreign _Nawao,_ millennia ago," said Honua. "But they're small, bright crystals. Responsive to magic. The sorcerers channeled their spell through them, _changed_ these artifacts, then buried them beneath the earth. So that no one could interfere with them."

"Except now this one's been dug up," Zafira declared, her voice growing very quiet. "And it's… _reacting_ …"

She didn't say anything else, _couldn't_ say anything else, because while Honua didn't have a name for the binding spell's "power source," Zee very much _did._ Those crystals sounded just like Orichalcum – the rarest mineral on the planet, composed entirely of solidified magic.

The mineral that, in her mate's hands, had once saved her life.

They'd picked up a handful of Orichalcum crystals before leaving her original time, but after the last few Dances they were down to just two, so Benuthet was treating them conservatively. It was why they'd avoided using their incredible healing properties to treat their minor wounds so far this trip.

Though with Makani's latest round of scratches, she'd _damn_ sure been tempted.

It was probably a good thing, she realized, that their last remaining crystals were far away, in her mate's satchel. Because while Honua's wound last night certainly qualified as an "emergency" worthy of using one…

Zee couldn't honestly say whether she would've done so.

"There's a reason we've kept these stones a secret. Even the rest of my clan doesn't know," Honua was saying now, oblivious to the other gargoyle's internal debate on the ethics of withholding lifesaving care from terrible people. "When the spell was first cast, around fifteen centuries ago, three of the clans leaving Hawaiki were chosen to protect them. Since then, it's been passed down from one clan leader to the next. It's not a coincidence we made our home in this valley."

Zafira was unable to resist asking, "So…this will be Makani's responsibility, in time?"

"It will," Honua answered immediately, her face set in stoic harshness. It was an expression that left no room for anything resembling doubt. "It's part of why I'm so hard on her. She doesn't know even _half_ the responsibility she'll have to shoulder. That's why she _needs_ to be ready. That's why she _can't_ remain weak."

The Mayan gargoyle's mouth became a thin line, as she struggled against the impulse running through her body right now.

Instead, all she said was, "I think you and I have _very_ different ideas about what 'weakness' is."

"So I've gathered," sneered Honua, waving a dismissive claw. "But that's not a very constructive subject, is it? Right now, we need to focus on getting this Dance back under control. Somehow."

Zee growled low, but while she hated to admit it she knew the orange gargoyle was right. Painful as it was, they needed to keep their priorities in order – and punishing Honua for being an abysmal leader, and an even _worse_ mother, wasn't the highest one.

Not right now, anyway.

Still, as to the matter at hand…well, no ideas were jumping readily to mind. Beyond "wait for Benuthet to handle the sorcery junk," anyway.

It wasn't that she didn't understand or appreciate her mate's talents for the mystic arts, of course. But she shared _none_ of his aptitude for the work. Any solution she could imagine seemed _woefully_ inadequate, when compared to the sheer scope of what they were dealing with.

She didn't have a chance to articulate this to Honua, however. Because in just that moment, the trees to one side of the clearing parted, revealing the boyish but over-serious face of Pauli Ka'ōleiokū.

"Your hour is up," he said, as his hand-picked men moved to join him.

[-]

 **Mauna Loa, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"Looks like we're passing another volcano," Brooklyn called out to Makani, completely unnecessarily – since the enormous fire-mountain was pretty much _all_ they could see to their left. "This one a Pele property, or do we gotta pay the ice-queen for two houses and a hotel?"

"I…err…wait, what?" said the tattooed gargoyle, before apparently deciding to just ignore the parts she didn't understand. "If you mean whether this is the domain of Pele or Poli'ahu, then it's the former. This is Mauna Loa…the _long mountain._ Of the five volcanoes that make up the island, it's by far the largest."

"Could we not commune with Pele here, then?" Benny asked the obvious question, wiping his brow of sweat with one broad forearm. This second glide was wearing down his stamina even more than the first.

Makani shrugged her shoulders. "We could try, but I don't think it would work," she responded. "Pele will sometimes appear at Mauna Loa's crater, _Mokuʻāweoweo,_ but usually only on special occasions. When she's especially happy, or filled with love. But based on the eruption the other night, that is… _not_ the mood she's in right now."

"Ah, gotcha," remarked Brooklyn, his tone dry. "So we're not only gonna tangle with a mega-powerful fire lady – we're gonna tangle with a _super-pissed_ mega-powerful fire lady. On her home turf."

"That's actually my point," the Hawaiian gargoyle told him. "We're asking for her help, after all. If she's feeling at ease in her home, the crater _Halemaʻumaʻu,_ then…well, it can't _hurt_ our chances, can it?"

"Unless she decides our disturbing her comfort counts as a combustion-worthy offense," said Benuthet, smiling humorlessly. "Which reminds me. We have some idea of what we'll be dealing with, regarding her personality…but what about in terms of power? Admittedly it's sometimes hard to quantify these things with the Children, protean as they are, but…"

"Oh, among the _akua,_ she's _definitely_ one of the most powerful," answered Makani. "She's the goddess of not only fire and volcanoes, but also lightning, earthquakes, and stormwinds. If the humans of these islands are devastated by any kind of harsh weather, they tend to assume it's Pele getting upset. And…well, they turn out right more often than not."

"A goddess of destruction, then," Brooklyn muttered with a weary sigh. " _Greeeeeeeat._ Haven't had to deal with enough of _those_ lately…"

"And of creation," she added quickly. Her claw slowly drifted up her arm, apparently unconsciously, to rest upon the stylized wisps of wind within her tattoos. "Around here, they're one and the same. Pele is the reason these islands exist, you see. Her lava flowed up from beneath the sea and hardened into land."

"Didn't you say Māui and his brothers fished the islands out of the ocean?" asked Benny, cocking a curious eyebrow ridge.

She nodded slowly, then said, "If you believe the stories."

"Things, true, accurate, yadda-yadda," Brooklyn cut in with a low groan. "I'd do the full line, but after hearing it in four different time periods…it gets _old._ "

Makani seemed on the verge of asking, but ultimately thought better of it.

"Ah, well. I suppose, given my homeland, that I'm hardly in a position to throw stones about seemingly contradictory legends," admitted Benuthet, now speaking mostly to himself. "I've been _one_ with Horus, and I _still_ couldn't tell you if he is truly Isis' brother, son, or both."

"Well, in any event…" mumbled Makani, attempting valiantly to get them back on topic. "There's no question that if we came to blows, Pele would turn us to cinders without a second thought. That's why we _can't_ let it come to that. And believe me: it does _not_ take a lot to slight her."

"You speak as if from experience," Benny stated quietly.

The forest-green gargoyle frowned. "I…haven't met her personally, if that's what you mean," she said. "But Awāwa just _loved_ to talk about her. She appeared in his stories more than any other – well, apart from himself, of course. I mean, not that I knew that at the time…"

She tilted her head, as if chewing something over, before adding, "In retrospect, the fact that he _always_ introduced Māui with at least a dozen adjectives should've been a hint."

"Humility did not, indeed, appear to be one of his strong suits," replied Brooklyn. "But back to Pele…"

"There was one story about her that always stuck with me," Makani continued on, her raspy tones growing slightly distant. "They say she once came to the island of Kaua'i, and fell in love with a human chief named Lohiau. His handsome face and beautiful voice entranced her. After nine days and nights she was forced to return to Hawai'i, but her longing for the young chief only grew stronger."

She extended a claw to the side, gesturing to the enormous mountain they were still in the midst of passing.

"Here, at Mauna Loa, she met with her favorite sister: the goddess of _hula,_ Hi'iaka," she said. "Hi'iaka was a young goddess, the first to be born on these islands, after Pele carried her from Hawaiki in the form of an egg. The two were extremely close, and soon enough, Pele confided in her the feelings she still held for Lohiau."

"Why didn't she just go and grab him?" asked Brooklyn. "I mean, not that I'm advocating kidnapping as a mating proposal. But in my experience, many of the Children, err…seem to have a different opinion on that."

"Pele has many responsibilities. Much as she wanted to spend all her days and nights watching Lohiau drum and sing, she knew she couldn't," Makani told him quietly. "Instead, Hi'iaka offered to travel to Kaua'i, and bring him to _her._ She asked only that, in the meantime, Pele watch over a grove of trees she held sacred, as well as her human friend, Hopoe."

Makani's talons drummed against each other nervously. Not for the first time, Brooklyn got the distinct impression this tale was _not_ building to a happy ending.

"Pele agreed…on one condition," murmured the Hawaiian gargoyle. "They had to return before the passage of forty nights. Any longer, and she was _certain_ her sister would fall for the chief. Hi'iaka, who unlike Pele had never lain with another, accepted these terms with ease."

She let out a long sigh. "But her journey was far from simple," she said, shaking her head. "In a way, your own story reminds me of hers, _Pluk'līn._ She too took on companions and faced a multitude of threats, battling demons and spirits and mischievous tricksters all along the way. And each new enemy burned away more and more of her precious time. Still, she was certain she would make it back before it was too late."

"I'm just gonna jump in and guess the big spoiler: she didn't," Brooklyn couldn't help himself from interjecting.

There was a pause, and then without looking at him, Makani responded, "Really and truly, _Pluk'līn,_ your astuteness is without bound."

The TimeDancer almost had to do a double-take. "Wait, hold up," he said, throwing up both claws. "Was that actually _snark_ I just heard, Makani?"

Her face deepened slightly in color. "I…don't really have your talent for it," she mumbled. "Did I get the tone of voice right?"

"Eh…not really. But I'm still impressed," stated Brooklyn, as he struggled to hold in a great deal of laughter. "We'll make a grade-A sarcasm machine out of you yet. _Extremely_ vital skill in my line of work."

He looked back at the stare she was giving him, which was somewhere halfway between bewilderment and exasperation, and added swiftly, "Okay…that's my last interruption. What happened next?"

"When Hi'iaka finally arrived on Kaua'i, she found a gruesome sight. Lohiau was already dead – his longing for Pele so great, that he'd completely neglected food and drink," Makani continued on. "Yet this did not deter her. Hi'iaka was the goddess of music and chant, and with them she cast a spell, returning Lohiau to life."

"She was able to do that?" asked Benuthet. "Even amongst the Children, that's a skill that is, if not impossible…then at least _incredibly_ ill-advised. _What is dead and gone, cannot be restored._ "

Those last few words were spoken strangely, as if he was quoting someone else, but Brooklyn didn't ask for clarification.

"Perhaps he was merely at the edge of death, and hadn't yet _truly_ passed on. The legend doesn't specify," said Makani, and Brooklyn had to remind himself he'd promised no further interruptions to keep from making a _Princess Bride_ reference. "In any event, the spell took some time to complete, and so the travelers were unable to make it back within the forty nights."

Her fists clenched. "Pele was beside herself with fury. She was _sure_ her beloved sister had betrayed her," she explained to the others. "Lashing out, desiring revenge, she burnt Hi'iaka's sacred trees to the ground, and turned poor Hopoe to stone. And, well…when their party finally _did_ return, and Hi'iaka saw what her sister had done…"

Suddenly, Makani did something Brooklyn had scarcely ever heard her do. While it was faint, and brief, and without any great amount of humor…

She actually _laughed._

"It's funny, really. Hi'iaka hadn't even given a _thought_ to Lohiau in that way, until that moment. Truly, she hadn't! Her loyalty to Pele was absolute," she went on. "But now she, too, was overcome by feelings of revenge. So she hurt Pele, in the only way she _knew_ she could. She embraced Lohiau, and poured into him her heart and soul."

"Is this where the whole 'burying people in lava' part comes in?" Brooklyn's question slipped out before he could stop himself, though he at least had the self-awareness to grin sheepishly. "You, err…said that's how most of her legends wind up ending."

"That _is,_ indeed, what she did. But it _isn't_ the end of the story," answered the tattooed gargoyle. "Hi'iaka was used to the boiling temperatures of Pele's element, and was unaffected. But Lohiau was killed instantly. Still, the _hula_ goddess was undeterred. Once more, she cast a mighty enchantment of song…and once more, he rose to be with her."

She paused for a few moments, a strange, sad sort of smile appearing across her beak.

"That miracle finally snapped Pele back to her senses," she said, her voice growing steadily lower and raspier. "Heart swelled with regret, she apologized to her sister for her rash judgment, and allowed Lohiau to choose who to take as his mate. He returned to Kaua'i with Hi'iaka on his arm the very next morning."

"And Pele?" asked Benuthet, his expression unreadable.

"She's never stopped seeking to reclaim that kind of love," whispered Makani, now gliding a few feet ahead of both of them, so they couldn't see her face. "I don't think she ever will."

She took a long, rattling breath, deep enough that it caused her muscular shoulders to shake.

"I think this story, more than any other, tells you what we'll be dealing with once we reach Kīlauea," she told them, her voice very quiet. "She's capable of the greatest kindness, the purest love, that you'll ever see. And yet she can wreak _just_ as much rage and pain. Switching between the two extremes is as natural for her, as breathing or stone sleep is for us."

She was surprised when a burnt red claw clapped over her shoulder. And even _more_ surprised when Brooklyn withdrew it a second later, knowing the physical contact made her uncomfortable even if he didn't entirely understand _why._

"Hey, won't pretend all this doesn't enforce the whole 'we're tap-dancing down into Dante's Eighth Circle, whoopee!' feeling," said Brooklyn, the corner of his beak twitching. "But I think we're all good and prepped. You don't have to keep trying to push us away from helping."

"I…I'm not…!" Makani stammered, though she didn't have the heart to finish the statement.

"With due respect, my friend…yes, you are. You have been, throughout most of our trip here," Benny cut her off, gently but firmly. "If I may speculate, I believe you're so unused to having others willing to come to your aid, that subconsciously, you've taken _every_ opportunity to cut that aid short. If we glided off and abandoned you, it would at least validate the worldview you've spent your whole life resigned to. That we haven't – that we _won't_ – forces you to come to grips with something far scarier."

Makani didn't seem to have a response to that, though her beak opened and closed several times without making a sound.

"You're a real special gargoyle, Makani," Brooklyn assured her, eventually breaking the silence. "Seriously, don't let _anyone_ tell you otherwise. What you're doing here, trying to help your clan and your friend…it's good, it's noble, and it's brave as all hell. So you can count on us, _all_ of us, sticking around – right up to the bitter end."

When she finally _did_ speak, her voice was hoarse and croaky, and Brooklyn could just barely catch a glimpse of wetness in her eyes – though he pretended he didn't.

"It's just…just…" she said. "I've seen _so many_ leave. Others in my clan I _thought_ were my friends, until things got too hard. Humans who _seemed_ like kindred spirits, until suddenly they weren't. And one…who I was stupid enough to think might've…"

Whatever she'd been alluding to there, she didn't elaborate. Instead, in an even smaller voice, she muttered, "And _you_ …you three. You'll leave too, won't you? I'm just another adventure through time to you. And once that adventure's over with…I'll be alone again."

Brooklyn and Benuthet exchanged a look. Barring some freak occurrence – and after all, since there wasn't any proof he'd ever actually made it _back_ to his time, there was the ever-hanging possibility that each new Dance might be his last – she was probably right, at least in essentials.

The Phoenix rarely left him in a single time period for more than a few nights; a week or two at the most. And it went without saying that he had _zero_ input as to when it elected to show its great flaming beak.

At most, it seemed to wait for a certain amount of "business" to be done, though it had a _really_ annoying habit of showing up halfway through "Act 2." As far as he knew, back in the past Wotan had triumphed with ease in his siege of Rome, and that mad monk had succeeded in burning his Himalayan monastery to the ground.

All told, Brooklyn could hardly promise he'd be there for Makani much longer. That _any_ of them would be.

But he _could_ promise to make the most of the time they had left.

"Right now, let's just concentrate on confronting Pele," he said, his expression softening. "Which we _will_ do. Together. As friends."

Benuthet nodded his agreement, and in a firm tone declared, "As clan."

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

It took Honua all of two seconds to turn on the other gargoyle, her eyes burning.

"You're working _with_ these monsters?!" she demanded with a snarl. "You led them right to me!"

"They know where we are, Honua, because they _brought_ us here right before sunrise," said Zafira irritably. She didn't have time to explain all of this – _especially_ after everything she'd just heard out of the clan leader. "They saved our lives. Doesn't mean they're exactly friends, but…"

"They're the _enemy!_ They always will be!" Honua shouted, jabbing a talon toward a bemused Pauli. "You don't know what they took from my clan! What they took from _me!_ "

Largely ignoring this, Zee turned to the young prince as well and asked, "Pauli, what happened to the other two humans? Young and the Queen?"

At this point, she figured it probably didn't matter how many humans Honua knew she was "working with." Even one would've been _far_ too many.

"They seem to have used the day of truce to flee. Not that I expected anything different from followers of my craven father," replied Pauli, waving a dismissive hand. "Still, I can't say it matters to me a great deal. _They_ weren't my objective."

He gestured up at the stones towering above them, which in the last few minutes had started to vibrate slightly, sending further tremors through the ground. Here, at the epicenter, they were barely noticeable, but Zee had no doubt they were wreaking even greater havoc on the rest of the valley.

" _This_ is," he added, his tones short and impatient, as if she was taking them off on some unrelated tangent. "So, have you learned anything of use, _Nawao?_ "

"Some. Less than I was hoping," said the scarlet gargoyle. "Though now I'm starting to wonder what use there is in sharing it with _you._ "

Another wave of that irritating palm. "Let's not let personal feelings get in the way of what we _all_ care about: this island's safety," shot back Pauli. "The fact of the matter is that unless we get those stones to _stop,_ it won't matter who wins control of Hawai'i. Because there might not be a Hawai'i left to _rule._ "

"Typical, arrogant human," Honua suddenly cut in, doing her best to intimidate Pauli and his ten-man cohort with her body language – although since she was still unable to stand under her own power, that was easier said than done. "The _last_ thing you want is for the Dance to 'stop.' It 'stops,' and the end of these islands won't just be a _possibility._ It will be a _certainty._ "

"That evil entity you mentioned," Zafira realized aloud. "That's what's causing this, isn't it? It's trying to break free?"

"I don't _know_ any more than I've already told you," snapped the older gargoyle, now doing her best – which wasn't saying much, since her eyes darted toward them every few seconds – to ignore the humans watching them all intently. "But that seems as good a guess as any."

"You truly know _nothing_ else?" said Zee, her eyebrow ridges scrunching up. "Not what it wants, or how powerful it is? Not even its _name?_ "

"I…know what it's called. But I'm not stupid enough to say the name _here,_ " Honua responded disdainfully. "You and I, the nameless race…we know better than anyone how _powerful_ names can be. So I _won't_ put my children in jeopardy, by speaking of the God of Darkness in a place like this."

Pauli, for his part, affected confusion for perhaps the first time since Zafira had met him. "I've never heard of any _akua_ whose domain is darkness," he stated. "Not one that's evil, at least."

"I don't believe he appears much in _your_ legends, human," the older gargoyle hissed, her gaze snapping back to him so quickly that the whiplash was nearly audible. "Compare stories with your brethren from Aotearoa some time. Or don't…I've never known humans to be particularly charitable with their _own_ kind. Much less _ours._ "

Just as suddenly, the prince rounded back to her in turn, his already limited patience at its end.

"Let's get one thing straight, _Nawao,_ since it doesn't look like we'll be making much progress otherwise," he said, crossing his muscular arms. "I have nothing against your race as a whole. Personally, I'd _far_ rather share this island with your kind, than with a great deal of my own 'brethren,' as you call them. Unlike my father, your clan at least seems to _understand_ honor."

"Pretty words," spat back Honua. "But that's _all_ they are. You think a few empty compliments can erase what you've done?"

"If it helps, I took no pleasure in the act," declared Pauli, his voice cool and dispassionate. "I was a mere fourteen years at the time, and Keōua only nineteen. An impulsive order, given in the heat of the moment. I doubt either of us would be so foolish now."

He shook his head once. "I had no choice but to follow my chief's command," he continued on, his tone and body language making it clear he expected this to placate her. "But for what it's worth, I at least made sure the poor creature's passing was painless."

Despite the sweltering tropical heat, Zafira could almost feel the air turn instantly to ice.

"You… _You_ … _!_ " the growl escaped Honua's beak, so low and so intense that the individual words were nearly indiscernible. " _You were the one!_ "

Pauli took a step back, his mask of stoicism rapidly slipping away, and Zee could tell from his wide eyes he'd realized his mistake. Whatever event they were alluding to, he hadn't known that _she_ hadn't known of his personal involvement.

And in turn, he'd _significantly_ underestimated just how "personal" that wound was for _her._

"I've spent _eight years,_ not knowing," she said, managing to make it back to a standing position out of sheer, undiluted _rage._ "Thinking about it every night. Dreaming of it every day. Each time I close my eyes, I hear his _screams._ "

Now, one unsteady step at a time, she was advancing upon the prince.

"I always wondered. Even amongst a _species_ of monsters, who could be so cruel? Cruel enough to look at a thinking, feeling, intelligent being…and just see a bright, fancy _trophy,_ " her words were coming through as whispers now, somehow _far_ more frightening than when she'd been screaming her head off. "Well now, I _know._ And I can finally have my _revenge._ "

That was all the warning she gave, before she lunged for the young human's throat.

It all happened incredibly quickly. Zafira blinked, and in that time one of Pauli's men had already stepped forward, spear at the ready. The weapon pierced Honua's side, but though it was her second such wound that night, instinctively the Mayan gargoyle could sense this was different.

Keōua's attack had, purely by luck, missed all of Honua's vital organs, and had come with less than an hour remaining to dawn.

That wasn't the case now.

Honua sank down to her knees, claws cradling the point where the spear had entered jaggedly, haphazardly between her ribs. Blood dripped liberally upon the undergrowth, and her shortened, anxious breaths escaped with a violently uneven rhythm.

"You fool," Pauli chastised his retainer, his face hard. "We _needed_ her. There are so many questions still unanswered."

"I…I didn't have a choice," stuttered the man, slowly backing away. "She was going to…"

The prince held up a hand to silence him. "Enough. It's already happened, so there's no use debating the point," he said. "We'll just need to readjust our plans. _Nawao,_ can we still count on _your_ aid?"

These words were directed toward Zafira, who was standing there with a look of dim horror upon her face. The beasts, who'd been largely silent since Pauli's arrival, began to growl forcefully, demonstrating quite plainly what _they_ thought of that idea.

"I'm…staying here," she mumbled, eyes lingering upon Honua's collapsed form. The older gargoyle had very nearly passed out from the pain, but her hitched breathing and half-lidded eyes showed she was still hanging on by a thread.

Suddenly, Zee found herself regretting her earlier thoughts. Horrible as Honua was, both as a clan leader and as a mother, she knew now that if she had Orichalcum in claw she would use it in a heartbeat.

 _No one_ deserved to die like this.

Pauli, for his part, adopted an expression of clear disappointment, though the barking of the beasts kept him from approaching any closer.

Instead, he turned to his men and said, "Let's return to our chief with what we _do_ know. It's better than nothing, at least."

And to Zafira, he merely added, "If you, and whatever remains of that fool's brood _finally_ see sense, then you know where to find us. For the sake of my home…I hope you make the right choice."

Then the humans disappeared into the brush.

The moment they were gone, Zee fell to the ground in a rush, attempting to get a better look at Honua's latest injury. But the clan leader wasn't making that easy. She held both claws resolutely upon the wound, gripping her own flesh so hard it threatened to draw even _more_ blood, and resisted with great effort when Zafira tried to pry those claws away.

"I'm… _urgh_ …trying to help you!" she grunted, tugging with all her might, but to little avail.

" _No!_ " exclaimed Honua, the first word she'd spoken since the stabbing. "Th…There's no point. Nothing you can do. Nothing… _anyone_ can do…"

Every syllable sounded like a monumental effort; like each one carried with it the very real threat that it'd be her last. Zee opened her mouth to urge the Hawaiian gargoyle to save her strength, but Honua cut her off with a fierce, agonized glare.

"L…Leave me," she said, before coughing up an ugly glob of blood. " _Leave me!_ I…I don't want…anyone to see me…like this…"

But Zafira wasn't deterred. Again she reached out, whispering as she did, " _Please._ Just let me…"

She was brought silent as Honua's claw suddenly lashed out, raking across Zee's face the very same way her daughter had experienced a hundred times over.

" _Go!_ " screeched the clan leader, immediately clamping her talons back over the wound to stem the renewed flow of blood. "Just… _go!_ "

Zafira touched at her cheek, and saw traces of her own blood drip onto her palm. She turned to Fu-Dog and Kebechet, who looked both saddened and confused, whimpering in unison.

Then, with one last glance back at the older gargoyle, as she lay dying in the shadow of the stone Dance, she left the clearing.

[-]

 **Kīlauea, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"That's…one hell of a sight," said Brooklyn, too in awe to articulate anything more profound.

They'd arrived, at long last, at their destination, and with great care were now ascending the enormous mountain, seeking its smoldering caldera.

The volcano still bore distinct signs of its eruption two nights prior. A thick layer of ash covered just about the entire cliffside, and the trio had to move very carefully to avoid the solidified lava flows that cascaded down its surface. Even after nearly forty-eight hours of cooling, Makani warned that touching the newly formed rocks could easily burn their skin off.

"You said Pele resides in a crater at the summit?" asked Benuthet as they continued to climb.

Makani nodded. " _Halemaʻumaʻu_ …so named, because it's the home of this, the _'āma'u_ fern," she said, gesturing to a plant jutting straight out of the rocks they'd just passed. Among several broad green fronds was a single, vividly red one. "You'll know it immediately once we reach the top. Alone of the craters in the caldera, _Halemaʻumaʻu_ never stops burning. Even now, it spews smoke and ash, reflecting the violent mood of its mistress."

"Can we make sure we've got our game plan in place before we get up there?" spoke up Brooklyn, his voice coming out in a deep pant thanks to the intense heat and humidity. "We've got our offering to try and set her at ease…"

He patted at his improvised sling, where the _ʻōhelo ʻai_ bush – along with about half the coconut-based "water bottles" they'd started with – remained full and intact.

"And we know the questions we need to ask," offered Benny with a nod. "About Māui, about the curse that's afflicting the island, and…"

He exchanged a meaningful look with his friend, mirroring the motion upon his own satchel.

"And about… _other_ matters," he finished, after a pause.

Brooklyn knew what he was alluding to, though Makani didn't. In their recitation of their adventures, they'd covered the Serpent Crown incident – like most things – only briefly, and hadn't gotten around to mentioning they were still lugging it around.

Or that they were sincerely hoping to chuck it into this volcano.

Somehow, based on the stories she'd told so far, Brooklyn had a feeling Pele wouldn't be very keen on the idea. They needed to bring the subject up _very_ carefully – and only _after_ they were done covering everything else.

Makani had enough to worry about, without piling _this_ bombshell on top of it all.

That was how Brooklyn justified the omission in his head, anyway.

"I…think it's best you let me do the talking, at least in the beginning," Makani eventually said, looking as if she'd be wringing her claws if they weren't otherwise occupied with the climb. "It's _very_ important we get started on the right foot, and I know best how to avoid making her angry. Mind, there's a good chance I'll screw it up anyway, but…"

"C'mon, Makani," the TimeDancer cut in, trying to sound encouraging. "Don't be like that again. You've _got_ this."

The corners of her beak twitched. "Your confidence in me, _Pluk'līn,_ is… _appreciated,_ " she told him quietly. "Poorly assigned, but appreciated. Still, either way…I suppose there's no point in getting down on myself at this stage. It'll go well, or we'll all die horribly. Nothing to do now but see which outcome comes to pass."

"That's the…uh, spirit?" responded Brooklyn, no longer all that sure himself.

Still, in between planting his talons from one handhold to the next, he offered her an awkward thumbs-up.

It was about ten minutes more before the three gargoyles finally reached Kīlauea's summit. The caldera was a massive depression in the middle of it, spreading maybe two miles across at its widest point, with the sides of the volcano enclosing it in all directions with towering "walls." Thus, the trio were forced to cautiously climb _down_ the cliff face, after nearly half an hour of climbing up.

The caldera was, indeed, peppered with craters of varying sizes, though true to Makani's words they had no trouble picking _Halemaʻumaʻu_ from the bunch. It was one of the largest, and the only one still producing a billowing gray cloud – one that, thankfully, the wind was angling away.

Taking care with each step, following exactly where Makani was placing her feet as she took the lead, the three of them slowly made their way across the caldera.

But they only made it a few dozen feet before the ashy cloud _quadrupled_ in size.

"That…doesn't sound good," Brooklyn said, as roaring vibrations seized the caldera, and great flaring sparks began to join the plume of smoke.

Within the crater rested an active lava lake, its surface covered with a bubbling film of jet black, but now the molten rock was churning, revealing the brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows underneath. Higher and higher, the lava began to splash, acting like the crashing waves they'd seen on the beach of Hōnaunau.

Then, without warning, something emerged from amidst the burning smoke. Something that seemed to burst forth from the very heart of the lava pool itself, like a whale cresting above the water.

Something that, despite being larger than all three of them put together…looked suspiciously like a _hand._

The skin, if it could be called that, was chipped black stone, the same as the crust layered over the lava from which it emerged. But as one hand was joined by another, and then by thick and powerful arms, the outer layer quite literally melted away – leaving a red so vibrant it was nearly blinding.

For several pulse-pounding moments, those brilliantly crimson arms were all the gargoyles could see, each one grasping for a handhold as they bent at the elbows, pushing _hard_ against the rocky caldera.

And then, finally…it happened. A head and a torso, perfectly in proportion with the enormous limbs, burst forth from the lava lake as well, and slowly stretched to their full, terrifying height.

She looked very much like a human woman, if titanic – in every conceivable sense of the word. And while Brooklyn obviously wasn't an expert, he was fairly sure that to someone who _was_ attracted to human women, her beauty would've been nothing short of _breathtaking._

Her skin, which had cooled enough now to take on a shade of vivid chocolate-brown, had a glow to it that was decidedly surreal. It was as if she'd captured within herself the very first golden rays of the sun; the only ones the average gargoyle could ever _dream_ of witnessing, just for a moment.

Her body was far from flimsy or petite, with well-toned muscles and a slight bulge to her exposed stomach. But as she stretched and yawned, as if awakening from an extended nap, it was with the grace of a dancer, her every movement a grand arc or curve.

Her hair, meanwhile, was full and luscious, a grand mane that extended past her waist and flowed freely in the scorching winds. It was as black as the rocks of the caldera, but laced throughout with traces of the magma below. As she drew herself fully upright, she tossed back her damp tresses, in much the same way that Makani had when washing herself in the ocean.

Except when Makani had done it, she hadn't loosed a dozen globules of burning earth behind her, raining down Kīlauea's cliffside like great balls of fire.

The giant woman was wearing very little, though it was hard to imagine even the strictest puritan having the stomach to call her out on it. For though she wore nothing but a headdress, lei, and skirt of bright red flowers, threading them together wasn't leaves or grass.

Instead, each and every one of her clothes was made of brilliant, blazing flames, dancing about her in neverending symphony. And the inferno burned with such intensity that it was difficult to tell where the lava-mountain ended, and the woman began.

If, of course, there even _was_ a separation.

Completing her ensemble was a massive staff she held loosely in her left hand, reaching nearly up to her shoulder – meaning it was likely taller than most buildings in New York. It appeared to be made of some kind of dark wood, but that seemed impossible.

For the woman was using it to slowly, lazily, swirl its way through the lava lake below, as if stirring a stewpot. Surely, if it were _truly_ wood, it'd be a pile of cinders by now?

In any event, the only aspect Brooklyn _hadn't_ yet witnessed was her eyes, for they'd remained resolutely closed as she took her time rising from her place of rest. But that didn't last long. A single blink, and those humongous eyes were revealed…though Brooklyn very quickly began wishing they _hadn't_ been.

The irises were about what he expected – the same deep, muddy brown that most of the humans on this island seemed to possess. But the pupils were a different story.

Instead of black, they were a fierce, burning orange, like two miniature suns amidst a sea of darkness. And they were both staring _directly_ at the three young adventurers.

"Who dares disturb the volcano goddess?" demanded Pele, her voice reverberating like the earlier volcanic tremors. "Who _dares_ to lay foot upon her sacred ground?"

In the face of all this, a petrified Makani could think of only one thing to say.

"… _Hāleipeinia._ "

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

So…this was it. _This_ was how it was going to end.

Somehow, despite the rather vivid physical evidence pooling underneath her, Honua couldn't quite bring herself to accept that as truth. She'd borne injuries just as bad as this – including a nearly identical one the previous night – and lived to tell the tale.

The scars she bore from them all only made her stronger.

But she'd never been one to lie to herself. The fact remained that she was bleeding out, and was unlikely to hold on past the hour, much less until dawn. Already she could feel her vision weakening, and her consciousness drifting to black.

Strangely, she didn't seem to feel all that much pain. When Keōua had stabbed her from behind, the feeling had been unending and agonizing, so overwhelming that only passing out brought relief.

But now this new wound, only about half a foot apart from the first, felt almost… _foreign._ Numb. She was detached from it, as if the mortal injury belonged to someone else.

With nothing else to do, Honua found her thoughts drifting where they often did: to her clan, and to her children. Between three generations, she'd had thirty-five, and each and every one of their faces swam through her mind in the space of an instant.

Most of them were still around, proud and productive members of their small but persevering clan. Several had died, caught in the crossfire of the humans' civil war, or else succumbed to natural causes on an island that was no longer as friendly as its idyllic image suggested.

Still, one face in particular seemed to eclipse all the others. For whatever reason, after a few seconds of undirected reflection, her mind's eye could see only Makani.

And much as Honua tried to shake away the image, it remained stubbornly in place, occupying thoughts that were rapidly slowing to the density of very thick _poi._ She really wasn't sure _why._

Perhaps it was simple, single-minded frustration – hardly a foreign sensation when thinking of her Second-in-Command. Simultaneously the strongest _and_ weakest of her children. Full of so much potential, that she'd tried her _damnedest_ to bring to the surface. Potential that, in her absence, was probably going to wither away to nothing.

Honua tried to picture what her clan might look like, led by Makani's trembling claws. Seconds later she was vomiting up her last meal.

That cowardly, foolish girl wasn't _ready._ She _would_ be, in time – Honua had spent the past fifty-two years doing everything in her power to make it so. But _now?_

She could see it all, in horrific detail. Makani bringing the entire clan to the humans' doorstep, to try and make peace – only for them all to be slaughtered the second the sun rose. Or, worse, she could make good on her idiotic plan to abandon the island, and drag the _rest_ of Honua's children along with her folly.

Drowning, starvation, being devoured by a sea monster…there were a million possible outcomes, but in _none_ of them did the Hawaiian Clan survive to see its next hatching.

"They need me…" the wretched gargoyle choked out, coughing through her own thick blood. "They still… _need me_ …"

 _Then for their sake, you_ must _survive. By any means necessary._

Honua's eyes shot wide open. Was she truly so far gone, that she was hearing voices?

Voices that sounded _nothing_ like her own?

 _I assure you, I am_ far _from a figment of your imagination. But I_ am _here to help._

"Who…are you…?" she said, unsure of why she was responding to this whisper in the back of her brain.

And yet completely unable to bring herself to tune it out.

 _My identity is not important. But_ you _are. You are the most important…_ Nawao _left alive. I believe that's what you call them here._

 _Without you, they are surely doomed. And rest assured that we_ both _don't want that._

 _Fortunately, there_ is _a way to save yourself. And it's just a few feet away._

Despite herself, Honua couldn't help but reply to the voice again. "Wh…What…?" she asked, beak barely moving.

 _The crystals. The ones the sorcerers placed in that dais, long ago. Their healing properties are without parallel._

 _Your scarlet friend knew about them, by the way. Knew, and_ didn't _tell you, even as you writhed in pain. I recognize her own scar as one healed by magic._

 _But that's neither here nor there. The important thing is that just_ one _of those crystals will be enough to rescue you from death's door._

 _All you have to do is_ take _it._

"B…But…won't that…" she mumbled, barely able to put a coherent thought together, much less a sentence.

 _Shut down the seal? Perhaps. But it's a small price to pay, really. Your kind need_ you _far more than they need this…_ relic.

 _Besides, this Dance has all but collapsed, anyway. What will it miss a crystal or two? And even without it, the circles in Rapa Nui and Aotearoa still stand tall._

 _The spell will hold. And if doesn't…well, that's far from_ your _fault, isn't it? The humans are the ones who've already weakened_ this _much._

 _Simply ask yourself, Honua. If the seal_ does _fall, would you rather your clan be led by your daughter…or by_ you?

"I…" said Honua, her voice now a hushed whisper, hollow and weak. "I'm…I'm still…not sure…"

 _Then I have one last question for you._

 _If you die here, this night…then who will be left to take your revenge?_

In that instant, it all crystallized into focus. Revenge…of course, _how_ could she have forgotten? She'd lost it, in the haze of pain and regret, but suddenly the sheer, uncontainable _rage_ she'd felt just before the stabbing exploded back into being, pushing everything else out of the way.

Finally, after eight _long_ years, she knew the identity of the human who'd murdered her mate. All humans deserved her hatred, of course – they'd more than earned _that_ much a thousand times over.

But the one called "Pauli"? And his master, who'd given the order?

The voice was right. She _had_ to live.

So that _they_ no longer would.

Bloodstained talons, the weakest they'd ever been, fumbled about on the ground. It took an incredible amount of effort, but she found what she needed: a heavy and particularly jagged piece of rock, perfect for use as a bludgeon.

Her body screamed in protest as she pulled herself forward with claws and knees alone, the numbness around her wound disappearing the instant she began to move. But still, Honua pressed on.

A few minutes later, she'd managed to haul herself upon the stone dais at the center of the Dance. The one that'd helped sink Hawaiki, fifteen hundred years ago.

The sound echoed throughout the valley, many times over, stone striking against even more ancient stone.

[-]

 **?, Rapa Nui, 1790 A.D.**

Fingers, encased in mechanical prosthetics, tapped carefully upon a set of keys, each lighting up with a pale blue glow as they were pressed in sequence.

Images flashed across numerous screens; readouts that no human or gargoyle would've been able to make heads or tails of. But for their lone observer, they came together to paint a singular picture.

One that filled him with _deep_ concern.

"These readings…" he said, his deep baritone filtered through the electronic distortion of his translator module. "I have never seen anything like them. It is as if the entire island is…"

He didn't finish the thought. Ultimately, he didn't know _what_ was going on. Only that it required further study.

It wasn't a guarantee, of course. But he'd be remiss in his duty not to consider the possibility.

The possibility that this represented the first step of an invasion.

And if that was the case…indeed, even if it _wasn't_ …he lived, in this regard, by one, simple truth.

That a Sentinel does not abandon his post.


	6. Episode VI: Kahuna

**_Gargoyles: TimeDancer – Hawaiki – Episode VI: Kahuna_**

 _Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Gargoyles. All Gargoyles-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Disney, Greg Weisman, and Frank Paur._

[-]

 **Kīlauea, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"Alright, let's all just keep our cool," said Brooklyn, in a tone that suggested he was finding his own advice difficult to follow. "A bit ironic to say, given that we're smack-dab in the middle of a volcano, but…"

"Answer the question!" shouted Pele, and the gargoyle immediately fell silent. Given that she was about fifty times his size and appeared pissed as all hell, it wasn't difficult for her to command the trio's full attention. "Out of deference to my father, I do not slay _Nawao._ But your kind should know better than to trespass upon my domain!"

" _Pele-honua-mea_ … _Ka wahine 'ai honua,_ " Makani spoke with reverence, bowing her head to the towering deity. "I promise you, we mean no disrespect. We only wish to beseech some of your bountiful knowledge."

The fury in the goddess' expression cooled slightly, but _only_ slightly. "Knowledge? You trade in a rare commodity, _Nawao,_ " she responded. "Can I assume you have tribute to pay in return?"

Makani reached a claw behind herself and gestured expectantly toward Brooklyn. A few seconds passed before he realized what she was getting at, and carefully extracted the _ʻōhelo ʻai_ bush from his palm-frond sling.

Pele peered skeptically down at their offering, before slowly reaching down and scooping it up with tree-sized fingers. The TimeDancer couldn't help but jump a bit as her stone-brown skin, glowing with the intensity of a raging fire, passed mere feet from his beak.

"This…came from Hōnaunau," she said, in a voice that was suddenly remarkably quiet. "I can feel the _mana_ of my father, and my uncles. This is a precious gift indeed."

Her golden-red eyes, still burning like hot embers, peered down at the trio, as if seeing them in a new light.

"You may speak one question each. Then you will leave," she commanded. "That is a fair trade."

"Wait, that's _all?_ After we came all this way to…!" started Brooklyn, but Benuthet extended an arm to hold him back, and he fell silent.

"My boons are not to be shared lightly. Do _not_ test my patience by forgetting your place," answered the goddess. "Unlike many of my fellow _akua,_ I happen to _like_ mortals. You have your charms, and on occasion one of your men… _intrigues_ me. But that doesn't mean we stand on equal ground, _Nawao._ "

Pele planted her enormous staff into the lava below, causing them all to jump from the sudden splash.

"I am she of the fire and flame. Of the storm and the wind and the earth. The isles on which you stand are the product of _my_ grace, and _my_ fury," she continued on. "You may have dealt with other Children before; I can tell from your garb and talisman, white one, that you are a practicer of sorcery. But I assure you. None of you have _ever_ encountered a force such as I."

She leaned forward, so that her stern face was so close that Brooklyn could've reached out and touched it – presuming he had a death wish.

" _Now,_ " she said, impatiently. "Your first question."

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"So you just left her there to _die?_ " demanded Uila, his electric-yellow beak hanging open in exasperation.

Zafira let out a deep breath, struggling to keep her calm. She'd explained this five separate times in the past fifteen minutes, and she was getting _really_ sick of how difficult it was to convey the sheer urgency.

"I didn't have a choice. She wouldn't _let_ me help her," she said, through grinding teeth. "Which is _why_ I need you all to come with me. If we get there in time and dress her wound, there _might_ be a chance she survives the night. But she won't let a…a _hā'ole_ near her, even one of her own race. Maybe it'll be different with her children."

The children in question regarded her with varying degrees of skepticism and disbelief. It was clear they found her story more than a bit wanting.

She was addressing three of them, now; three young gargoyles who looked to be of Makani's generation, and who'd taken up organizing the reconstruction in absence of their leader and Second.

First and foremost was Uila, the portly yellow gargoyle in charge of managing the clan's resources. While he'd been timid and tentative when addressing Honua the previous night, in her absence he was far more assertive – and far less patient.

On either side was a pinkish male with very long hair, Hau'oli, and a dark blue female who was missing one of her large webbed ears, Kaha.

Hau'oli crossed his broad forearms. "How do we know you're not just trying to lure us into an ambush?" he asked, his voice deep and rumbling. "Or something along those lines. We've been burned before, by trusting outsiders. You may be fellow _Nawao,_ but you've given us little reason to heed your word."

"Besides, even if you _are_ telling the truth…that means hostile humans are already amassing in the valley," said Kaha. "Honua would want us to focus on protecting the clan. And the eggs."

At this, however, Uila's expression shifted to become more hesitant. "If it _does_ come to battle with the humans…" he spoke softly, scratching a stubbly chin. "How are we going to fare without Honua or Makani to lead us? There aren't a lot of us left with real martial experience."

Kaha made a scoffing noise. "As if _Makani_ would be of any use in a fight," she replied, flicking her tail impatiently. "Honua is one thing, but I say we're better off with that coward _far_ away from here."

The pink gargoyle suddenly turned on her. "You're going too far, my love," he told her, calmly but firmly. "I know you disagree with her position as Second, but that's our _sister_ you're talking about."

" _Sister?_ Don't make me laugh. You were _there_ when she…" snapped his mate, though she didn't elaborate on what she meant. "Anyway, I'm only saying what we're all thinking. My love, even _she_ agrees with me. How many times now has Makani asked our mother to reconsider?"

"And each time, Honua has turned her down. Proof that she can see something we may not," Hau'oli pointed out. "Until we know for _certain_ that circumstances have changed, Honua is still our leader, and Makani is still our Second. Who else do we have that might be able to step in?"

"Awāwa, for one. He may be a bit… _eccentric_ …" said Kaha. "But I'd feel a lot better if _he_ was watching our backs right now. Has anyone seen him lately? Or did he just run off like he always does?"

"No one I've talked to has seen him since the battle with the _menehune,_ " answered Uila. "He may be our mightiest warrior, but I've never known a _Nawao_ so unreliable."

Zee wasn't sure whether it was a good idea, but she felt compelled to explain, "He was with us. We split up so he could lead the human leaders on foot – the ones we were talking about when you were there, Uila – but on the way he…well…"

She cleared her throat. "He and the humans were separated, though even _they_ weren't sure by what," the scarlet gargoyle continued on. "My mate and my friend left with Makani to investigate."

Kaha's scowl deepened. "You know, an awful lot of our clan seem to mysteriously 'disappear' around you three," she stated, not even bothering to _try_ keeping the accusatory note out of her voice. "I think perhaps it's best you not be around while we make further plans."

"On this, I agree with my sister," added Uila swiftly. "I appreciate the information you've offered…and if _we_ deem it worthwhile, we'll send someone to where you _claim_ Honua fell. But our clan can handle the rest, on our _own._ "

Zafira's mouth fell open slightly at the abrupt dismissal.

"You…You _don't_ understand," she said. "We think there's a lot more going on here than just some angry humans, or diseased fruits. If you don't let us help you, then I'm worried your whole clan might…"

But Hau'oli held up a scarred hand to cut her off. "I think perhaps you _hā'ole_ have helped enough," he declared, in a tone that left no opening for response.

Zee blinked, several times. Then, sensing defeat, she walked over to Kebechet and Fu-Dog, who'd been munching on leftover chunks of pork. Seeing the expression on her face, her mate's beast let out a low whine.

"You and I both," she murmured softly, before leading both beasts out of the clearing.

[-]

 **Kīlauea, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"I guess I'll go first," said Brooklyn. When Makani raised an eyebrow ridge, he explained his reasoning. "The two of you know a _lot_ more on this subject than I do. So my question's the least-valuable. I'll try and word it so I've got the lowest chance of screwing it up."

Then, turning her eyes up at the towering goddess before them, he requested in a loud, clear voice, "Please tell me where we can find Māui."

Pele was still for a moment. Then, she stretched out her arm, and pointed northwest.

Makani let out a low groan. "Māui is _also_ the name of another island. I thought you already knew that. Didn't you mention it when you were talking about that, umm… _Wil_ … _Pol'kīn_ …thing?"

"Can we just agree to forget I ever mentioned Wheel of Fortune?" replied Brooklyn with an exasperated sigh. He was now pounding his forehead lightly, but repeatedly, against his fist. "And yes, that completely slipped my mind because I'm an idiot. If it wasn't clear before."

Before he could chastise himself further, however, the corner of Pele's mouth started to twitch.

"My apologies, _Nawao._ I simply couldn't resist," she said, chuckling lightly. The sound sent minor tremors through the volcanic soil. "Perhaps my brother-by-marriage is rubbing off on me more than I thought. I'm usually not much of a Trickster myself."

She drew herself up to full height, which in her case made for a rather impressive display.

"No, I know the spirit in which your question is asked. Unfortunately, I am unable to answer it," she told Brooklyn. "I am the mother of these islands, and as Avalon speaks to my Lord Oberon, so do they unto I. Wherever Māui now dwells, it is not within the bounds of Hawai'i."

Pele's bemused expression curled into a tight frown, before adding, "Out of fairness, I'll permit you one more question, crimson _Nawao._ If you will answer one for _me_ in turn."

Brooklyn wasn't sure what to say, so he just nodded.

"Tell me…" she began, fiery eyes sparking. " _Why_ you wish to know."

The TimeDancer looked toward his compatriots, and Benny gestured his assent. He supposed they were going to get around to this subject anyway, with the rest of their questions.

"Something's, err… _happening_ to the wildlife on this island. The plants, the animals…even little magic guys like those _menehune_ things," he attempted to explain. "Some kinda sickness. We're trying to look into what's causing it."

"Māui is the only individual we know who's traveled the _Mahiki,_ " said Makani. "Whatever's going on…we have a bad feeling the answers will be found in the Underworld."

"Ah," hummed Pele. "You wish to question Milu."

Benuthet's brow scrunched up, as he seemed to pick up something in her tone. "Are the two of you familiar?" he asked.

"She is one of my many, many sisters. I would call us neither close nor distant," responded the goddess. "I would not advise your current course, however. The _Mahiki_ is a one-way path. My uncle, Kanaloa, does not make a habit of returning that which blunders into his realm."

"I can't speak for anyone else," Makani declared, wringing her claws nervously. "But if it means saving my clan…that's a choice I'm willing to make."

The volcano goddess tilted her head to the side, almost appearing impressed in spite of herself.

"You are an interesting one, verdant _Nawao,_ " she said. "I admire courage in mortals. All the more so…since I can sense the fear that undergirds it. To feel such things, and still push past them – _that_ is true bravery."

Makani's cheeks flushed, embarrassed by the compliment.

"Crimson one, you have sated my curiosity. So as promised, once your companions have had their turns, I shall allow you one more question," continued Pele. "But first…I wish to hear more from _this_ one."

Her glowing eyes hadn't left Makani for an instant.

The tattooed gargoyle coughed and looked askance beneath the goddess' piercing glare. Eventually, however, she seemed to marshal that same courage Pele had mentioned, and with some difficulty, began to speak.

"You…You've heard _why_ we're here," she rasped. "But have _you_ noticed anything that could be the cause of these horrors? That is…you know so much of these islands. In some ways, you _are_ these islands. So maybe you're better equipped to answer this than anyone else. Wh…What's _changed?_ "

Pele observed the muscular gargoyle coolly. "I suppose it depends on the sense in which your question is intended," she said. "It is fair to say that in recent years, a great _deal_ about these lands has changed. And yet, in other ways, I would say they have scarcely changed at all."

She leaned forward, resting against her wooden staff.

"The greatest changes, of course, have been the result of these human _hā'ole,_ " the goddess went on. "Only twelve years have passed since they arrived on these shores, and already the humans' society is changing irrevocably. It is a tale that has repeated itself in many other lands…and I doubt _these_ mortals will be immune."

"Could something these new humans have done… _triggered_ something?" Makani asked carefully. "Our clan knows very little of their practices or customs. Honua just tells us to stay away…"

"It is…a possibility. Though I would hardly call myself an expert on mortal affairs," Pele answered. "I know these _hā'ole_ wear strange garb, and hail from lands I have not seen since before the War. I know they fail to observe the _honi,_ and bury their dead in the earth. I know they wield iron weapons that spit powder and fire."

At this, the Child of Oberon couldn't help but shudder a little. Given her gargantuan size, it was a rather off-putting sight.

"In any event, I can only guess at the connection. I do not believe it is mere coincidence, but that is all I have to offer at present," she said. "There is a… _sense_ to the magic of these isles, and it _is_ shifting. With every fiber of my being, I can feel it. But you will need to find the answers as to _why_ on your own."

Makani didn't look entirely satisfied with that answer – it was hard to imagine _anyone_ would be – but she bowed her head out of timid gratitude nonetheless.

"Which brings us neatly to you, sorcerer," Pele went on, shifting her piercing gaze to Benny.

The scholar nodded his assent, but didn't speak immediately. Instead he put down his satchel, and began digging around inside of it with both claws.

His movements were careful, practiced. He hadn't needed to pull out this particular artifact very often – but each time he did, it was with more caution than he handled everything else he carried, _combined._

A single errant brush of a talon could be enough to spell disaster.

As carefully as he could, Benuthet lifted the object above his head and peeled away its wrappings, one by one. Just enough for the blood-red stone underneath to be revealed.

"Rather than a question, I have a humble request. One I _know_ asks a greal deal," he said, swallowing hard. "Will you permit me to use this sacred mountain's power…"

The Serpent's Crown gleamed in the bright moonlight.

"…To rid the world of this evil for good?"

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

When Pauli Ka'ōleiokū finally returned to his patron, he found his army already on the move.

Rows of men marched with spears held aloft, while behind them, ranged attackers prepared slings with heavy stones for ammunition. The middle of the formation held about a half-dozen _Koa_ warriors – elite fighters with a variety of _koa_ wood weapons and unparalleled skill in hand-to-hand combat – their freshly oiled bodies glistening. Bringing up the rear were four _kahuna;_ simultaneously priests and magicians, who could manipulate their own _mana_ and the _mana_ of others to incredible effect.

And finally, at the center of all of this, wielding his own spear and the shark-toothed club he'd appropriated from the _Nawao_ leader, stood Keōua Kūʻahuʻula.

Pauli wasted little time sidling up to his half-brother, pushing past a _Koa_ warrior with a curt stare.

"My king," he began tentatively. "May I ask where we're marching?"

Keōua didn't grant the young prince the benefit of eye contact. Without breaking his stride, he responded with a terse, "To battle."

Pauli's eyebrows raised in alarm. "If I may make a suggestion…" he said, choosing his words carefully. "The _Nawao_ have had a few hours to regroup now, and more than half the night still remains. You cannot hope to win against them in this scenario. Not without risking heavy losses."

Again, Keōua didn't turn toward him. He just told his half-brother, "I am not marching to exterminate the _Nawao_ …this time. Not unless they're foolish enough to get in my way."

"Then what…?" murmured the prince, but Keōua cut him off by pointing his spear at the sky.

Toward the towering stones, just visible over the tree-line, that Pauli had _just_ left behind.

"I have received visions of a glorious future. A sign that the gods themselves smile upon our mission," Keōua spoke softly. "And the secrets of that Dance are what'll lead us there."

The younger man blinked several times. There was something… _odd_ …in the chief's tone of voice. A firmness, a _certainty,_ that hadn't been there the previous night.

Keōua might affect an unwavering confidence to the average eye, but Pauli knew him better than perhaps any other man alive, and he was well-aware that a great deal of it was an act.

The truth was that in his private moments, the mighty chief was frequently wracked with bouts of self-doubt, uncertain if he truly deserved the throne he pursued. His zealousness in claiming the title of king was less confidence that he was worthy of it, and more the ironclad belief that Kamehameha was _not._

That had changed now. There was no longer any _room_ for doubt in the words Keōua spoke.

And it frightened Pauli down to his core.

"Tell me what you discovered on your pilgrimage to the Dance," said Keōua, shaking him out of his reverie. "It may be useful in the conquest to come."

Pauli made the mental note to ask why he'd suddenly adopted the _Nawao_ leader's term for the stone circle – or why he spoke it with such unmistakable _reverence._

In the meantime, however, he decided the safest way to answer was, "The _Nawao_ indicated that its magic is containing an _akua_ of incredible power. But she wouldn't offer more than that. Still, she was _extremely_ adamant that it not be disturbed."

"Only because she fails to realize the _power_ of what she's kept hidden," Keōua whispered, a spark alighting in his eyes. "You haven't heard the voices, Pauli. If you did, you'd understand."

"Understand… _what,_ my king?" replied Pauli, no longer able to keep the uneasiness from seeping into his voice.

"There are crystals at the heart of those stones. Each one containing powerful and terrifying magic," said the chief. "With them, each of our _kahuna_ would be worth a _hundred_ of the usurper's warriors. We wouldn't need any of the other _ali'i,_ or the _Nawao._ And we could finally rid our blessed lands of the filth that came from across the sea!"

Pauli just stood there, stunned.

"To protect our home, I will go to any length. To protect our people, I will make _any_ sacrifice," Keōua added, his hand tightening so hard around his spear that it produced an audible crack. "I thought you, of _all_ people, would understand that."

"I do!" Pauli exclaimed immediately. "But just because we should consider all our options, it doesn't mean all those options are _equal._ Last resorts should remain for the last. And messing around with ancient magicks…"

"This _is_ the last, brother! Haven't you been paying _attention?_ " demanded the older man. "Nothing else has worked. Nothing else _will_ work! The usurper's armies now outnumber ours ten-to-one, and he gains more support with each new conquest. If we don't act _now,_ in a few years there won't be a Hawai'i to _save!_ "

His expression shifted, becoming imploring. "Trust me. This is the _only_ path left to us," he murmured, emotion overtaking his voice. "If there was another way, I would take it. But there isn't. We claim this power for our own…or we lose our home forevermore. Those are the choices, Pauli Ka'ōleiokū."

Suddenly, his spear swung around, its point stopping mere inches from Pauli's chest. In unison, several of his guards did the same.

"Now, brother…" he said, face rigid with determination. "Now is the time to _choose._ "

[-]

 **Kīlauea, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

Pele's enormous, fiery orange eyes narrowed as she looked upon the Egyptian gargoyle.

"Do you have any idea what it is you hold, sorcerer?" she asked bitingly, barely contained fury pulsing through her form.

"Perhaps more than anyone else on Earth," responded Benuthet, meaning every word. There was no need to go into his sordid history with the Crown right now, but there would never be a night when it _didn't_ weigh upon his thoughts. "The Serpent's Crown…an artifact of pure Chaos. Carved from one of the fangs of Apophis, and imbued with his timeless evil."

"Precisely," said Pele. "Meaning you'd _dare_ bring a piece of an Unseelie _here?_ To Kīlauea?!"

" _An…Hi…Li…?_ " Makani attempted to repeat, confused.

"The leaders of the Children of Mab," Benny explained. "In my time, the Unseelie Court was made up of twelve of Mab's most powerful, most loyal…and most _evil_ followers. Her inner circle, of sorts. We've encountered two in our travels so far – my old enemy Apophis, and the Erlking in that 'German' land."

"And would've tangled with _three_ if we hadn't stopped Kingu from bringing back big mommy Tiamat," added Brooklyn, suppressing a shiver. That hadn't been a particularly fun adventure for him.

"When I studied at Alexandria, one of the most dangerous tomes in its halls contained…what was that word you used in Babylon, my friend?" the scholar went on. "Ah, yes…'dossiers.' On each of the Unseelie. It was not a volume I was permitted to peruse myself, though I did… _know_ …someone who did. In retrospect, perhaps I should've taken that as a warning sign…"

He didn't elaborate, leaving Makani looking bewildered. Neither did Brooklyn, however. While they'd described their Dance to Egypt in very broad terms on the way here, they'd seen no reason to go into detail about the _Harmakhis_ who'd once called herself "Isfet."

Though Benuthet had come to accept her passing, and found _true_ love in his mate's arms…there was a sore spot there that would never _fully_ heal.

The leonine gargoyle cleared his throat. "In any event, I know at least a little about each, even if the details are scant. Albeit, any information I have would be around eighteen centuries out of date," he said. "Typhon, the adversary of the Olympians, for example. Or the many-headed Orochi of the East. There was even one from this region – Whiro, a god of darkness. Though the name is about all I can recall with confidence."

He turned back to Pele to continue making his case, but to his surprise, the goddess had suddenly gone rigid. Somehow, the glow in her eyes and skin seemed to have dimmed slightly, as she stared off in the distance far above them.

"Uh…hey? Miss Fire Lady?" Brooklyn piped up, after several moments passed without her reacting. "You still with us, Oh Honorable Badass Goddess?"

"Repeat what you said earlier, crimson one," she suddenly ordered, her voice booming. Her eyes were still directed at the horizon, however.

"Err…which part?" he asked, after jumping a little. "There was kinda a lot…"

"You said this island's curse was akin to a _sickness,_ " she said, cutting him off. "And that it was causing strange behavior in certain creatures. _Which,_ in particular?"

"Lizards," answered Benny, who had the best memory for these sorts of things. "As well as a variety of insects and birds. Come to think of it…Māui seemed to think there was a connection there as well. But he didn't have a chance to share any further."

"You have just spoken of it," Pele declared gravely. "Whiro. Those are all _kinolau_ of Whiro."

Makani swallowed. "Maybe…you should tell us more about this 'Whiro.' If that's alright," she suggested, her voice tepid.

The goddess' expression darkened. "Would you like that to be your final question, crimson one?" she asked of Brooklyn. He exchanged a look with Makani, shrugged his shoulders, and nodded.

"Very well, then," she muttered, crossing her arms and glaring again at the Serpent's Crown. "I would suggest returning _that_ to its wrappings, sorcerer. I will make my decision upon its fate at a later time."

Benny did as instructed, slightly uncomfortable as her watchful, unblinking gaze followed the artifact back into his satchel.

"For now, however…sit down, if you would," said Pele. "This could take a while."

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

Zafira had just spent the better part of an hour climbing up the side of Waimanu Valley.

In retrospect, she had to imagine that the first time they'd done this, Māui's under-the-radar demigod powers must've sped up the process considerably – just as it had while they were gliding halfway across the island.

Because this was turning out to be a _lot_ harder than she remembered.

The "walls" of the valley, while undeniably gorgeous, were also steep and difficult to grip. There was so much greenery spread over the rocks that she had to reach shoulder-deep in many places before her talons touched stone, and heavy rains had left all of it incredibly slippery.

Both of the beasts, with their shorter and stubbier limbs, had an even harder time of it. At another time, Zee might've been tempted to chuckle at the sight of the formidable creatures, burying themselves more than halfway into lush bushes and vines with each step.

But there was nothing laughable about the current situation. If she wasn't able to do something, and _quickly_ …

Makani might not have a clan to come back home to.

Unfortunately, with her being essentially and unceremoniously banished from both the Hawaiian Clan's roost and the stone circle – and with her human "allies," for want of a better term, nowhere to be found – her options for helping were decidedly limited.

That's why she'd resolved to climb this cliffside. At least with a better view of the valley, she _might_ be able to come up with a new plan.

Zafira groaned and, not for the first time, wished her mate was around to offer advice. Or at least a bit of support. Either would've been _immensely_ welcome right about now.

She hadn't been traveling with Brooklyn long, relative to how much time he'd spent "Dancing" overall, but in that time she'd seen _far_ too much death – human and gargoyle alike. She didn't want to see Makani's fathers, mothers, and siblings added to that list.

Unfortunately, _they_ weren't proving very helpful in accomplishing that goal. Stepping back and looking at this objectively, she could acknowledge that from the Hawaiian Clan's perspective, the time-travelers' actions must've looked _incredibly_ suspicious.

After all they'd faced over the years, from the local and foreign humans alike, trust had to be a rare commodity indeed among these gargoyles. Especially with a raging paranoiac like Honua leading them.

Still, that didn't make the situation any less frustrating.

Bouncing all about the timestream, Zee had learned never to take anything for granted. Friends and allies might be here one minute, and gone the next. History was immutable, and took no sides.

There was a very real, dreadful possibility that, regardless of whose ambitions succeeded – Keōua's, Kamehameha's, or even the white foreigners' – the world that resulted would have no room for _Nawao._ It wouldn't be the first time. It wouldn't be the last.

Sometimes, it really _sucked_ to be a time-traveler.

Zafira had delved so deep in thought that it took her a few moments to realize she'd reached the top of the cliff. With one last burst of exertion she pulled herself up onto the ledge, followed soon after by an exhausted Fu-Dog and Kebechet.

After taking a few minutes to catch her breath, the Guatemalan gargoyle turned back to the Waimanu Valley, taking in all of its breathtaking glory. From this angle, it looked even _more_ beautiful than it had a couple nights ago.

Looking down from this high up, the clearing the Hawaiian Clan called home was all but invisible, surrounded on all sides by dense trees. The only clue was a small plume of smoke escaping through the leaves; likely the result of a cooking fire.

 _Much_ harder to miss was the stone "Dance," which was so tall it could likely be spotted from just about _any_ distance. Even from this far away, the towering structures seemed to radiate a tremendous power, drawing the eye of any observer without it really being clear _why._

The stones were imposing, awe-inspiring. In their own way, quietly terrifying. They were…

… _Collapsing._

Zee's eyes went wide as, without warning or explanation, the four stone spires began to fall, one after the other. They fell slowly, without breaking, like an absurdly large version of that "dominoes" game Brooklyn had once showed them.

The sound of their impact, even at this distance, was ear-splitting – almost _unnaturally_ so, like their weight was even greater than their enormous size suggested. And each one triggered an earthquake that felt at least _twice_ as severe as last night's tremors.

She could only imagine what it felt like on the _ground._

"That settles it, then," said a familiar voice. "The time to act is now, _Nawao._ "

Zafira turned around with the speed of a whip, to the trees that lined the clifftop. Emerging from them was the man who'd just spoke, John Young, along with another pale man in similar clothes. Dutifully, they both stepped aside to allow forward Queen Ka'ahumanu, who stood to the side of a very tall man Zee wasn't familiar with.

But somehow – between his broad stature, regal raiment of bright reds and yellows, and expression of unwavering confidence – she was fairly certain she knew _exactly_ who he was.

And the hundreds-strong army that followed behind him, armed to the man and fully prepared for battle, only confirmed his suspicions.

"'Olohana speaks the truth, noble creature," spoke King Kamehameha, his deep baritone cutting through the night air with practiced precision. "It is time for your race to make a decision."

[-]

 **Kīlauea, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"I suppose one could call Whiro my… _uncle._ Yet at the same time, he is not," Pele said cryptically. "You, sorcerer…you mentioned the Olympians. So you are familiar with the duality between their Greek and Roman selves?"

Benuthet nodded. "Different facets of the same Children," he explained, for his companions' benefit. "Zeus and Jupiter, for example, are the same being, viewed through the lens of different human cultures. But that relationship goes both ways. Much akin to an actor wearing two masks; inevitably, the 'audiences' will affect each performance."

"An apt comparison," replied the goddess. "The _akua_ are much the same. Here, my father is Kāne – chief of the gods, lord of light and life. But on the distant isle of Aotearoa, the humans you call 'Māori' use instead the name Tāne. And it is the same with many others of my family. Kanaloa becomes Tangaroa. Kū becomes Tū. Lono becomes Rongo."

Pele paused for a moment, her mouth dipping into a frown.

"But there are others whose legends have been less… _widespread,_ " she continued on. "Gods of the Māori who are seldom spoken of on _these_ fair islands. In their stories, the Earth Mother and Sky Father had yet _more_ children. There was Haumia-tiketike, the wild god, who hid in the fertile earth and sprouted the first fern. There was Tāwhirimātea, the god of storms, who opposed his brothers' plan to separate their parents and bring light into the world. And then, there was…"

"Whiro," Brooklyn finished for her.

The volcano goddess' full lips twitched slightly.

"In truth, they say over _seventy_ children spilt from the loins of my grandmother, Papahānaumoku. Or Papatūānuku, as the Māori prefer. Although you may know her better by the title _Mab,_ " she said, speaking the name with remarkably little dread. "Some of those I know well, as my uncles and aunts. Others, like Haumia or Tāwhiri, are strange to me, having never graced the islands of Hawai'i. Whiro…would be among the latter."

She clenched tightly to her staff, as if saying the very name was more than a little bit draining.

"This is what I know, young _Nawao,_ " she told the trio. "Whiro is enemy to every last one of his brothers and sisters. Even Tāwhiri, who _hated_ his siblings and strove to destroy them at every turn, lent his aid to vanquish Whiro. The Maori have a saying: _Ko Whiro te atua o te kino o te ao._ "

The Phoenix didn't automatically translate her words, but it was close enough to Hawaiian that Makani seemed to have understood.

"Whiro is the source of evil in the world," she whispered, breathless.

"You said that Whiro's domain is darkness, and this is so," Pele added, as the flames that made up her clothing crackled about her. "But know that, to we of Polynesia, darkness is _good._ All things began in darkness. Your noble race, pride of my father, dwell within it. On Hawaiki, where we all once lived as one, the nights lasted twice as long as they do now."

"Until Māui played his trick with the sun," Benny recalled.

"My brother-by-marriage made a grave mistake that day. But even he, perhaps, does not fully comprehend just _how_ severe it was," said Pele. "By equalizing night and day, he upset the balance between my father, lord of light, and my uncle Kanaloa, dweller in darkness. And Whiro took advantage. He preyed on divisions that already existed, stoking them until they were burning fires. Then, at their most vulnerable, he swooped in…and stole Hawaiki for himself."

"He…stole an _island?_ " asked Brooklyn incredulously.

"Whiro is many things. He is god of disease, of pestilence and plague. He is master of the meaner spirits and demons who pollute mortals' minds, and twist them to evil," answered the goddess. "But above all, he is the lord of thieves. From the very beginning, he has existed, and has coveted the one power he can never possess: the power to _create._ For Whiro can only destroy, and destroy he shall – should he ever manage to return."

"Hold on…let's back up a minute," Brooklyn interjected, holding up both claws. "Return from _what?_ What exactly happened to him?"

At this, Pele seemed to turn thoughtful, her staff stirring through the lava in slow, tight circles.

"They say Whiro was always jealous of my father's position. He was the most loyal to their mother, and among the eldest of her progeny. Yet Kāne and Kanaloa – Tāne and Tangaroa – became chiefs instead," she said. "When he seized Hawaiki, the humans and _Nawao_ who called it home fell under his sway. It was his chance to play at being their sole, wicked god…and to spite his hated brothers, whose _kinolau_ he'd stolen."

Pele looked down at the trio with deep, solemn eyes. "When they saw what he had made of their paradise, the great gods realized where their petty squabbling and rivalries had led them," she went on. "Left with no choice, they evacuated as many mortals as they could, and then forced Hawaiki to sink beneath the waves. Whiro's conquest became his prison."

"If there's one thing my studies have taught me…it's that there is no prison immune to escape," Benuthet observed coolly. "Particularly when the prisoner is as powerful as Whiro seems to be."

"Know this, also: for we of the _akua,_ death and the ocean are as intimately connected as a _Nawao_ and the wind," Pele declared, causing Makani to fidget slightly over her phrasing. "When Hawaiki disappeared beneath the waters, it became part of the underworld – and therefore, within Kanaloa's domain. And so he has remained Whiro's jailer for over fifteen centuries."

"Well that's…gotta suck," stated Brooklyn, a bit lamely. "Take down the big bad and get stuck babysitting him for all eternity."

"Perhaps. Though Kāne, Kū, and Lono fared little better," she responded. "Mab punished them heavily for turning against such a favored member of her Court. It is likely why they chose to join Oberon's rebellion a few centuries later – and why she chose to exact the ultimate punishment upon Kū and Lono, in the resultant war. But though she was furious, my grandmother was powerless to remedy the situation. Even for the Mistress of the Third Race, the doors of death cannot be transgressed."

Benny seemed to have caught on to her meaning, as his eyes grew wide and his mouth murmured, "At least…not from the _outside._ "

Pele dipped her head in recognition. "Remember that Whiro did not actually _die,_ " she said. "He was entombed in the underworld, but to this day he remains there, alive. And he has _never_ stopped fighting to break free."

The goddess began to wave her hand, forming shapes in the air with her dancing flames. It was incredibly beautiful _and_ terrifying, all at once.

"On these islands, humans who pass from this world have their organs and flesh carefully stripped from the bone. On Aotearoa, the dead are set aflame until they burn to ash. And of course, your kind has the Wind Ceremony," spoke Pele, as her fires shifted to represent each. "These rituals have taken on a number of meanings over the ages, but in ancient times there was another reason."

Now another shape appeared out of the inferno: an enormous, gaping maw. Savagely, it struck at the rest of the flames, attempting to gobble them in a single gulp.

But it failed.

"Whether human, gargoyle, or Child of Oberon – the body is a reservoir of _mana._ The very energy of life," she explained to them. "These rites exist, in part, to separate the _mana_ from the physical body. Because a body with all its _mana_ intact is easy prey for a being such as Whiro. Any time one happens to appear in the underworld…he devours it whole."

"But he _isn't_ able to eat ashes. Or dust," Makani realized aloud. Her voice was trembling slightly, though she was doing her best to put on a brave face.

Still, it wasn't hard to guess that this topic was disturbing her. Really, who _wouldn't_ it disturb?

"And with each fresh corpse, he grows stronger still," said Pele. "Once he has consumed enough, Whiro will be able to break free of his prison, and wreak havoc upon Polynesia once more. If the seal on his tomb is weakening, it would certainly explain the strange events that have plagued these islands. But why should it be breaking _now,_ after all this time?"

Once again, however, Benuthet was a few steps ahead of the rest. Pensively stroking his mane, he asked of the volcano goddess, "Did you not mention earlier that one of the differences between the local humans and these… _hā'ole_ …were their funerary customs?"

Pele's entire body stopped cold – which was somewhat impressive, given how much of it was presently on fire.

"They bury their dead in the earth," she repeated her own words, her voice ringing distant and hollow. "They bury them, with _all_ their _mana_ intact. How could I not have realized it before? The _fools!_ "

"Err…I may not know what I'm talking about, but…" Brooklyn cut in, scratching his beak. "Well, where _I_ come from, that's pretty normal. For humans, obviously. Never seen any big scary kaiju rise outta Calvary Cemetery."

"Though the death gods – and their realms – are all connected, the afterlife is not the same for all humans," Benny told his friend. "The scholarship on such topics is by definition sparse, of course, but it's generally understood that one's personal beliefs, mindset, and physical state at the time of death can all influence where a spirit 'goes.' This accounts, for one thing, for the existence of ghosts."

"So all these British and American guys burying themselves on their own home turf is no big deal," said the TimeDancer, attempting to understand. "But doing it _here,_ so close to where Hawaiki _used_ to be…"

"That is my theory. Though it may be but one factor contributing to the whole," replied the scholar with a nod. "Still, it gives us a place to start with. Now that we're all but certain the source of this curse is the underworld, finding this 'Milu' becomes all the more important. The connection cannot be a coincidence."

"If Whiro is attempting to escape, then it is Kanaloa whom you _must_ seek," Pele corrected them. "The body of Milu _is_ the underworld, and so includes Hawaiki…but Kanaloa is both her father _and_ her lord. He is the god best placed to prevent this calamity. Unfortunately…"

The volcano goddess crossed her arms, frowning. "He is not able to _leave_ the underworld, any more than Whiro can. When Hawaiki sank, he sacrificed his own freedom to ensure it would _remain_ so," she added after a moment. "So if you _Nawao_ are serious about taking action…then you must indeed travel the _Mahiki._ Whatever the cost."

"Do _you_ know where the entrance is, Lady Pele?" Makani asked respectfully.

"I am afraid I do not. And Māui never shared how _he_ was able to find it," she said. The goddess paused, looking thoughtful. "I suppose I could kill one of you, and allow the other two to follow. But we can save that for a last resort."

The gargoyles looked at each other. None of them were quite certain if she was joking or not.

"In any event, my ability to aid you is constrained by Oberon's law. But given the gravity of the situation, I will do what I can," she informed them. "I can sense, through the earth, a great magical disturbance in the Waimanu Valley. With your permission, I can send you directly to its epicenter."

Makani's brow ridges rose in alarm. " _What?!_ " she exclaimed. "My clan…are they…?"

"I cannot answer that question. But I _can_ tell you that the disturbance has very recently worsened," responded Pele. "Investigate it, and perhaps the next step in your journey will reveal itself."

Brooklyn sighed. "Guess it's a better lead than any others we've got," he said, shrugging to his companions. "And I'm _really_ not gonna miss going back the old-fashioned way."

"Then only one other matter remains," declared the goddess, as she waved her hand once more.

Her dancing flames suddenly sprang back to life, flowing seamlessly from the ones that covered her waist and breast. Then, without warning, a tendril of fire snaked its way into Benuthet's satchel.

Somehow, without burning the bag, its owner, or any of its contents, the plume soon emerged – carrying with it the Serpent's Crown, returned to its sheepskin wrappings.

"The protective enchantments on the wraps were meant to render them, among other things, fireproof," he remarked to his gape-mouthed friends, though he still looked somewhat irritated at the unannounced invasion of his space. "I suppose it's gratifying to know they still work."

"My flames will not burn unless I will it," said Pele, tossing off their concern. "And so they will keep this artifact safe, until your adventure has concluded. _If_ you are able to prevent Whiro's release – then, and _only_ then, will I allow you to destroy it in one of my mountains."

"That seems an acceptable bargain," answered Benny, his eyes not leaving the Crown, now floating in a cage of fire just out of his reach. "But in that case…I think I'd prefer to continue keeping watch over it personally."

"That would _not_ be advisable," the goddess thundered, her voice deepening a full octave to emphasize the severity of her words. "Think for a moment, sorcerer. You may well be about to confront a member of the Unseelie Court. What do you think would happen if you brought a piece of _another_ within his sight?"

"Whiro…might attempt to resurrect him?" guessed Benuthet, becoming queasy at the thought. He'd already confronted Apophis _more_ than enough for one lifetime – and that was _without_ a "friend" at the evil serpent's side.

"No, white one," she muttered. "Whiro would attempt to _eat_ him. And gain his power for his own."

The idea of it was terrifying enough that, though the Egyptian gargoyle still had his reservations, he lowered his eyes from the floating Crown, silently providing his assent.

"Then with that, noble _Nawao_ …" she said, raising her titanic staff out of the lava and toward the sky. "Let us begin."

And she began to chant:

" _By fire, by thunder, by earth and by wind."_

" _This journey into darkness, these three shall begin."_

" _To walk along the path of souls long forgotten…"_

" _Take them to the place where this island grows rotten."_

The three gargoyles disappeared in a flash of light.

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"According to both 'Olohana and my Queen, you are a _Nawao_ of rational mind and honorable character," said Kamehameha, stepping away from his army and approaching Zafira. He stopped when they were about fifteen feet apart. "On these islands, most of your kind take names, but 'Olohana again informs me this isn't the case around the world. Do you have something I may call you?"

"I am…Zafira," she replied coolly, observing the human with caution. "Am I to understand you're the king he speaks so highly of?"

He was a powerfully built man, especially for his age. Zee had a notoriously difficult time pinpointing humans' ages (when first meeting her old friend Three-Monkey, she'd guessed him to be about twenty-five, and been quite embarrassed to learn he was only fifteen) but she was fairly certain the king was in what humans referred to as "the middle ages."

Still, neither the short, graying hair atop his head, nor the age-deepened lines of his face, detracted from the sheer aura of _power_ the man exuded. It was more than his towering stature, standing at around seven feet, or his tightly packed muscles, however – though those were certainly part of it.

Everything about this human, from his bare feet all the way up to his yellow-feathered crown, suggested a man who gave orders and _knew_ they would be obeyed. There was none of the obsessive overcompensation that hung over men like Keōua like a dark cloud; the secret, paranoid suspicion that they really _weren't_ worthy of the titles they sought.

No…Kamehameha _knew_ who he was, and knew what he _wanted._

And there wasn't a damn thing in the world he was going to let stop him.

"I am Kalani Paiʻea Wohi o Kaleikini Kealiʻikui Kamehameha o ʻIolani i Kaiwikapu kauʻi Ka Liholiho Kūnuiākea. King of Hawai'i, and soon to be the uniter of _all_ her fertile islands," he said. "I know you have fought my cousin, Keōua Kūʻahuʻula – the final enemy that stands in the way of my destiny. I know that he is somewhere in this valley."

"I haven't seen him since last night," Zee chose to answer his unspoken question. "I _have_ seen your son, however."

"Yes, my queen also mentioned this," responded Kamehameha. "Pauli Ka'ōleiokū will be spared. He is of noble blood, sound mind, and rare skill. But Keōua _must_ die. If you assist me in locating him, I will ensure your kind are under the full protection of my rule. For always, and forever."

"I…don't feel I have the right to speak for the _couatl_ of this valley," Zafira stated carefully. "You're aware, it seems, that I'm not from these islands."

"And I would be _very_ interested in learning how you came to be here. There is nothing in war so valuable as knowledge, noble _Kāpira,_ " the king told her. "But if you wish to keep that to yourself, I will not object. Ultimately, it changes little."

Kamehameha raised his spear aloft and turned it in a wide arc, gesturing to the army behind him. With every moment, yet more men emerged from the trees; it was clear now that he outnumbered Keōua's forces by at _least_ five-to-one.

"I have nothing but respect for the _Nawao_ race. They walked these lands and glided upon these winds _long_ before humanity took shape," he said loudly. "But you no longer have the luxury of remaining neutral in this conflict. Hawai'i is stepping into a new era, and mine are not the only people who must adapt."

Ka'ahumanu took a step forward, though remained behind her husband.

"Have the _Nawao_ chosen an interim leader, in their Second's absence?" she asked, without preamble. "We need to know who to negotiate with, now that Honua is… _indisposed._ "

The scarlet gargoyle grimaced and averted her eyes. "They…didn't exactly _believe_ my account of what happened. And Honua will likely die because of it," she murmured. "And as for Makani…I'm not sure they _will_ follow her, once she returns. She's unpopular with a good portion of her clan – no doubt thanks to her rookery mother."

"A pity. The _Nawao_ must be united if they are to stand with us, brothers and sisters in arms," declared the king. "If we cannot come to some sort of agreement, only one other path will remain. And I pray it isn't one we shall be forced to take."

"And…what path _is_ that?" Zafira demanded softly.

Kamehameha looked her straight in the eye, his milky brown irises firm and unblinking, and intoned one word: "Sacrifice."

Zee's mouth fell open, as she felt her entire body tense up. "You…want to _sacrifice_ them? _All_ of them?!" she exclaimed incredulously. "How does that make you any better than Keōua?"

"Because Keōua resorts to wanton slaughter when he doesn't get his way. No hesitation, no mercy…and _no_ honor," said the king. "Your kind deserve better than that, _Kāpira._ To slay _Nawao_ outside the field of battle is _kapu_ of the highest order, and the gods will not hesitate to punish him for it."

As he said this, the king shot a meaningful glance toward a red feather cape that two of his attendants held like a banner. He didn't explain himself, however.

"If it should come to that…and I will do everything in my power to _avoid_ reaching that point…" he added after moment. "Then I will declare open war on the clan of Waimanu Valley, and allow them a fair trial by combat. Those that are slain will be offered up as sacrifices to Kū, then returned to the clan for your own ritual – the Ceremony of Winds, I believe it is called."

"I…suppose it's an improvement over indiscriminately massacring us all," muttered Zafira, one hand now gripping the handle of her obsidian blade, just in case. "But not by much. If you're such a wonderful and benevolent king, why can't you just leave this clan _alone?_ "

"Because the story of Hawai'i is no longer solely ours to craft," said Kamehameha, his face stony and unpitying. "Contrary to what Keōua thinks, when I witnessed the arrival of foreign ships I saw both the opportunity _and_ the danger. But I also saw that they won't _stop_ coming."

He struck his spear's shaft into the ground, displacing red dirt in a transient cloud.

"We, the descendants of Hawaiki, have been fortunate. We've lived for generations upon generations on our own, untouched by the wider world. Unaware that there _was_ a wider world," he continued. "We can either take advantage of the changes they bring, and step into a new golden age – for _both_ humans and _Nawao._ Or…we can allow ourselves to be buried in their wake."

The king affixed her again with that powerful, overwhelming stare.

"I love my people, _Kāpira._ And therefore, I know which one _I_ choose," he finished, and she could tell he meant _every_ word. "How about you?"

Zafira wasn't sure what to say. Wasn't sure what she _would've_ said, if something hadn't happened to wipe every other thought from her mind.

Throughout their encounter, half of her mind had been with the stone circle, and what could _possibly_ have happened to send its spires careening to the ground. She'd thought about bringing up the subject, a couple of times, but there didn't seem to be much point; if Young and the queen knew nothing then it was unlikely the king would be different, and she had no idea if there were sorcerers anywhere amongst his army.

But suddenly, something else appeared in that very same clearing, directly at the center of the Waimanu Valley.

A bolt of lightning, striking from out of a cloudless sky.

There was no question as to the source of the bolt. She'd seen precisely the same phenomenon dozens of times. The only question was _why._

Zafira knew she should've said more to King Kamehameha. Given his stated intentions, departing suddenly without explanation was an _incredibly_ foolish thing to do.

But in that moment, as she leapt from the cliff and rode a sharp updraft toward the center of the valley, emotion overrode her rational mind entirely. There was only one thing she knew.

Right now, her love _needed_ her.

[-]

" _Fulminos venite!_ " Benuthet called out, repeating the spell he'd first learned from the Roman Magus during the Visigoth invasion. His summoned lightning came down from the sky and struck his target dead-on.

Unfortunately, as his opponent was a fellow spellcaster and surrounded by a magical barrier, the bolt was about as effective as throwing tissue paper.

They'd arrived in the valley in a state of utter confusion. The "epicenter" Pele had spoken of was clearly a circle of magical power – similar to ones he'd encountered in Egypt, Rome, Babylon, and the Himalayas. It was also clearly broken beyond recognition.

The standing stones had all fallen to the ground, leaving bad cracks along the points of impact. And the structure at its center looked to have been bludgeoned beyond all recognition, based on the copious debris strewn about.

With the circle of power broken, it was all but impossible to determine what it'd once been used for. Not that he would've had much a chance regardless, since they'd been attacked within seconds of appearing.

For there _was_ one thing clear about the center dais: it'd been chock-full of what were unquestionably Orichalcum crystals, _dozens_ of them, that'd tumbled out messily once their "container" was broken.

And every single one of them was now in the hands of Keōua's sorcerers, and being used in an attempt to turn the trio of gargoyles into pulp.

Orichalcum was a versatile, if somewhat volatile, mineral. Being pure magic in a crystallized form, it was essentially sympathetic – able to bond with and amplify virtually any kind of magic, if used properly.

The Hawaiian magicians used a technique Benuthet had never quite seen before, resembling song and dance more than anything else. But the results were difficult to argue with.

The magicians – at least four in total that Benny could see, and possibly more he could not – were hovering constantly, protected by spherical shields and calling upon the forces of the natural world to hound their foe. Earth, wind, and fire alike dogged his every step, leaving him with barely any room to counterattack.

As long as they kept chanting their songs, the magic continued unabated, without any pause in the action to re-gather power. It was a style he would've _leapt_ at a chance to study for himself.

Well…if it wasn't about to kill him, anyway.

Unfortunately, he couldn't rely on the aid of his friends to tip the scales. Brooklyn's sword whirled through the air as fast as he could swing it, holding off half a dozen of Keōua's best warriors on his own. Armed with wooden blades and clubs, they darted toward the Scottish gargoyle with quick, repeated lunges, searching for an opening in his defenses.

Brooklyn was strong enough, and his metal weapon broad enough, that a single swing was capable of taking down an enemy. Unfortunately, he was handicapped by an unwillingness to kill the warriors, which if his blade slashed their bare chests would've been the sure result. For now his superior reach and flexibility gave him the advantage, but there was only so long he could struggle against sheer force of numbers.

And as for Makani…

It was the first time Benuthet had seen her in a fight, and it was immediately obvious that physical combat was _far_ outside her comfort zone.

She wielded no weapons or complex techniques, simply grappling with any enemies that came within reach and tossing them over her shoulder. Given her hulking build this was actually a fairly effective strategy, but also one the scholar could tell wouldn't last long.

Her stance was all wrong, unsteady and unbalanced, and she kept leaving openings that her attackers just _barely_ missed. Makani might've had a good head for tactics – her rescue of these very same men from Kīlauea proved that much – but her fighting skills clearly hadn't kept pace.

"I don't want to hurt you!" he heard her crying out, as she hastily dodged a spear that came within a hair's breadth of gutting her. "There's no reason for us to be fighting!"

But Keōua Kūʻahuʻula, now perched atop the broken dais like a throne as he observed the battle, just laughed.

"You stand in the way of our kingdom. Of our return to glory! That's reason enough!" he said, his voice now sparking with maniacal glee. "You shouldn't have denied me, _Nawao._ At least then, you could've _joined_ us in the sun!"

It was a uniquely terrible metaphor when speaking to _Harmakhis,_ but Brooklyn seemed too busy fighting to snark about it.

"Even if we aren't allies, we don't _have_ to be enemies!" exclaimed Makani, as three attackers leapt onto her body, trying to force her to the ground. With a great effort, and visible regret in her eyes, she was forced to send them flying by flaring open her wings.

Keōua's expression became a brutal sneer.

"I'd wager you regret saving us from Pele's wrath now," he replied, the lines of his face devoid of any sympathy or pity. "Tonight, the very same men you carried to safety will _slaughter_ your treacherous race…one after the other. All because of the choice _you_ made."

He waved a hand, and without missing a beat, one of his sorcerers broke off from their chaotic duel. The man's song shifted in tempo and intensity, and suddenly Makani was doubled over, clutching at her throat.

With horror, Benuthet realized her very namesake was being turned against her.

"Don't you wish you'd left us to die now, _Nawao?_ " demanded Keōua. "I want you to stew in those thoughts as you draw your final breath!"

There was a brief moment of silence, as both Brooklyn and Benuthet struggled to push past their opponents, to do _something._ The scholar knew of a few spells that might be able to stop the choking winds, but they would all take time and concentration to cast – two resources in scarce supply right now.

Makani, however, just looked up at the chief with bulging, bloodshot eyes, and with a great effort managed to say, "…No."

" _What?!_ " Keōua hissed.

"If…I had…to do it again…I _would_ …" she choked out, her expression simultaneously terrified and defiant. "Human… _Nawao_ …native… _hā'ole_ …doesn't matter to me…"

The tattooed gargoyle could barely get the words out now, but still they came.

"I just…don't want…anyone else…" she whispered, as her knees gave out completely, and she fell to the ground. "To _die_ …"

Keōua's face was utterly livid. "This is _war,_ you worthless beast," he told her, sliding off his improvised throne and raising his own spear overhead. "There are _always_ sacrifices. Time for you to learn that the _hard_ way!"

" _Incende!_ " shouted Benuthet, roaring in frustration as another enemy sorcerer dissipated his fire blast with a sustained low note. " _Tas!_ _Dormī!_ _Ha-wi!_ "

But whether Latin or Egyptian, none of his spells made their mark. His wand was burning a hot blue from overuse, but for all the good it was doing he might get better results _throwing_ it at them.

Brooklyn wasn't having any better luck. The crimson gargoyle's eyes flashed as white as the moon overhead, no longer holding back as he slashed at any enemies who came within reach, but there were simply too many.

One or both of them might _eventually_ break through. But they'd be too late.

But then, as Keōua readied the final blow, something very strange happened.

Abruptly, the sorcerer who'd been casting the wind magic ceased chanting, his eyes wide open with shock.

That was the expression left frozen on his face as his head was torn messily from his shoulders.

For a few precious seconds, all fighting in the clearing ceased. The gory display had drawn all eyes, as each and every combatant watched the magician collapse to the ground, revealing the killer who stood behind.

It was Honua.

[-]

 **Hawaiki, 1790 A.D.**

"Okay, I'm just gonna come out and say it," said Māui, stretching his broad shoulders and yawning pointedly. "You are a _terrible_ jailkeeper, eel-man."

Te Tunaroa hissed furiously, opening his maw to display his many rows of enormous, jagged teeth.

"You seem not to understand the situation you're in, _hero._ You are in _my_ coils, and under _my_ power," he snarled, demonstrating the point by circling his enormous body around the demigod. He fell short, however, of actually _touching_ his captive – needing to maintain a bit of distance from the iron chains he was bound with. "I can snuff you out any time I wish!"

"And yet, you haven't. Kinda funny, isn't it?" Māui quipped back. "Let's get real, Tuney. You absolutely hate my guts…err, sorry, poor choice of words. Point is, if it was up to you I'd be dead _yesterday._ The fact that I'm not means your string-puller wants me _alive._ "

The Eel God turned away from his old enemy, so that he wouldn't see him gnash his jaw in frustration. How much longer was he going to have to put up with this?

Ever since Māui had torn him to pieces all those centuries ago, Te Tunaroa had bided his time in the underworld, regenerating back to full strength. As a full-blooded Child of Mab – he _refused_ to acknowledge her whelp's name – he of course could not die from such wounds, but Māui had bled him of enough magic to render his recovery long and painful.

And all that time, one singular thought had sustained him: _revenge._ How _dare_ a mere half-breed lay his hands upon the God of Eels? How _dare_ he stand in between Te Tunaroa and the ravishing goddess Hina, whom he'd abducted to be his bride?

How _dare_ he not merely "kill" Te Tunaroa, but _humiliate_ him? Turn him into the punchline of a story for mortal children?!

So when his Master had come to him, and offered a bargain, the Eel God hadn't hesitated to wrap his coils around the idea. And he wasn't the only one. The poor fools in the living world had no _idea_ just how vast Whiro's reach now stretched.

It was, after all, the _best_ kind of bargain – the type where both his duty _and_ his payment were one and the same. Māui was one of the most well-traveled _akua_ still wandering about the Pacific, and the best-placed to figure out his Master's plan. One way or another, he _needed_ to be removed from the game.

And now that he _had,_ thanks to Whiro's domination of the _Huaka'i Pō,_ it fell to Te Tunaroa to _keep_ him that way. No one else could be trusted with the task. Māui was a Trickster of rare talent, and left to his own devices was capable of just about _anything._

Only one who knew his tricks through-and-through was capable of imprisoning him. The Master wasn't taking _any_ chances.

Of course…this'd all been before Te Tunaroa's long-dreamt vengeance had become a reality. The Eel God had been prepared for his nemesis' strength; for his magic; for his cunning.

He hadn't been prepared for how utterly _annoying_ he could be.

" _Hmmm hmm hmm hm hm hm…noʻu ka hauʻoli…_ " Māui sang idly, looking more bored by the present situation than anything else.

Finally, Te Tunaroa could take it no further. "Will you just be _quiet,_ for once in your life?" he snapped, looming over the demigod.

"Afraid not. Trickster, chatterbox, they just kinda go together. Puck, Sun, Coyote…why do ya think they run their mouths off every chance they get?" said Māui. "Little hard to do what we do without yammering on. Though Nought's got a pretty decent sense of humor if you catch him on a good day."

"I know what you're doing, you filthy little half-breed!" crowed the eel. "Trying to distract me…to get me to lower my guard! Well, it won't work! You're _mine,_ and I'm _never_ letting you go!"

"Oh, Tuney…" murmured the demigod, tossing back his bountiful hair and fluttering his eyelashes. "I didn't know you _cared_ so much! Unfortunately, I _don't_ really swing that way. Which is to say… _evil._ And slimy."

"You laugh now, _hero,_ " responded Te Tunaroa, allowing some of his slime to drip onto his foe as punishment. He was completely oblivious to the irony in this. "But how will you feel when my Master takes his rightful place, and _you_ remain trapped here for all eternity? Poor Hina will _so_ lonely. Don't worry, though. At least _I'll_ be there to comfort her…"

"Ewwwww… _blagh, blagh!_ " were the sounds Māui made as he spit out the slime, some of which had dribbled into his mouth. "Anyway, trust me, pal. Hina wouldn't dive into your mucus membranes if you were the last Child on Earth. Which…well, if Lizard-Face gets his way, just might happen."

"You don't understand a _thing_ about my Master. His path is the only salvation for our race," said the Eel God, knowing his words would fall on deaf ears. "We're _better_ than the mortals. We have everything they have, and _more._ We have eternity! And yet the whelp wants us to 'play nice'…to let _them_ take the world that's rightfully ours?!"

He sneered at his prey.

"Perhaps you can never understand. _You_ …who've kept one foot in each world all your life," he continued on, venom both literally and figuratively dripping from his fangs. "But the mortals are _changing._ The First Race is dying, and the Second is ascending. Their vessels allow them access _anywhere_ across the globe. What will they do next? Claim the air, like they already have the land and sea? Claim the _stars?_ "

"I'd like to see them try," Māui replied defiantly. "Remember, I rep _all three_ races. And I believe there's still a chance for a world where they all live in harmony."

"Look _around_ you!" exclaimed the eel, lashing its tail back and forth. "And see what happened the _last_ time that was tried!"

While most of Hawaiki was shrouded in blackness, joined to the underworld so completely that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the next began, what little they _could_ see of their surroundings painted a stark picture.

It'd been a paradise, once. Luscious springs and bountiful groves of every fruit imaginable. A multitude of sheltered dwellings for the Second Race to raise their offspring; sturdy trees for the First to raise theirs.

Now, it was… _ruins._ All ruins.

But that same, defiant look didn't leave Māui's face as he too looked around.

"I see something great. That turned rotten because _we_ messed with it," he said. "And your boss is at the _front_ of that list."

Te Tunaroa gnashed his jaw again, so sharply that the sound reverberated throughout the vast darkness.

"Believe what you wish, _hero,_ " he told his enemy, turning his head so that Māui could see only one, enormous yellow eye. "But the one who _should_ be first on your 'list' will be arriving shortly."

As if on cue, a strange, clanging sound began to echo all around them. Without intending to, Māui fell to his knees and tried to shut out the noise, but it was no use; the sounds seemed to bypass his ears entirely and reverberated straight into his heart, seizing and throttling it with pulsing pain.

Glancing up, it seemed that Te Tunaroa was, if anything, even _worse_ affected, though thanks to his much larger frame he showed it less. Still, that meant the source could be only one thing.

And indeed, a few moments later another legion of _Huaka'i Pō_ came into view, dragging with them a figure bound with the same heavy iron currently holding Māui. The marchers, enslaved so thoroughly they were almost mindless, hadn't bothered to keep the chains from scraping against the floor of the underworld.

Māui blanched as he wondered how _Milu_ must feel. All this iron being dragged around inside her body _couldn't_ be good for the poor girl's health.

But his skin grew even paler, as he realized just _who_ his fellow captive was.

"So, uh…daddy-in-law…" he said, as a thoroughly unamused Kāne was forced into a sitting position a few feet away. "What're _you_ in for?"

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

It was Honua. And yet it wasn't.

The figure who'd just decapitated one of Keōua's magicians _looked_ quite a bit like Honua. Certainly, it had Honua's body.

But if there was one thing Benuthet knew more deeply than anything else, it was that appearances were _very_ often deceiving. And it was the small details that gave away that there was something _very_ wrong.

For one thing, she'd clearly suffered a debilitating wound to the abdomen, and attempted to use several of the Orichalcum crystals to reseal it. But with barely any knowledge of medicine and even less of magic, her "solution" had been to forcibly fasten them against the wound with an improvised bandage of ferns.

Unfortunately, like most magic, Orichalcum responded to _intent_ more than anything else, and the crystals clearly hadn't registered her intentions as "healing." They'd interpreted it, he guessed, as _surviving._

The difference was evident in the fact that the wound was _still there._ The blood had stopped, true, and it wasn't affecting her movements in any noticeable way.

But rather than mending together, the clotted flesh appeared to have gone _necrotic._ Half of the old gargoyle's body looked like that of a corpse, and it didn't even seem to be slowing her down.

The crystals themselves also didn't look quite right. Typically, Orichalcum glowed a bright white, tinged slightly blue; the symbolic colors of Atlantis, from which the mineral was believed to have originated. But powerful magic channeled through it could shift the hue. Blood magic, for example – like that used by the Mayan sorcerers – sometimes turned Orichalcum red.

In this case, the crystals set over Honua's wound had turned a strange, splotchy purple – the color of a bruise. And worse…

Their jagged edges were digging _into_ her rotted flesh.

The sickening gap in her stomach wasn't the only thing that drew the scholar's attentive eye. Her claws and feet ended in sharper points; her face, thinner and more angular. By contrast, both wings – _especially_ the crippled one – seemed to have shrunk somewhat.

But worst off were her eyes. He wasn't precisely certain how to describe them, with pupils that somehow managed to be both too wide and too narrow at once.

Benuthet only knew that they _didn't_ belong on a gargoyle.

"M…Mother…" mumbled Makani, unsure of what to say as she looked up at her clan leader from below.

Her own eyes, trembling, moved to the decapitated magician who'd nearly choked the life out of her, then to Keōua, spear still raised high, who too seemed frozen by the sudden change in events. Eventually, all she could manage to say was, "Thank you…"

But Honua only hissed in response – and in doing so, revealed rows of teeth that _also_ didn't seem to match her beak.

"I didn't do it for _you,_ useless girl," she snapped.

Benny's eyes went wide as saucers. Because he recognized that echoing effect in her voice; realized what all the _other_ signs meant.

It was hard to believe. But he'd also studied this more, perhaps, than _any_ other scholar in history. He knew now what Honua looked like.

Like his very own self, the day he'd been forced to don the Serpent's Crown. _Twice,_ thanks to the "wonders" of time travel.

Somehow, some way, Honua had used the Orichalcum as a conduit…

And become an Avatar.

But for _whom?_

"I am here for one thing, and one thing only," said the clan leader, raising one talon toward Keōua. The crystals along her body pulsed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Benuthet saw one of the humans dart out of sight, back into the trees.

" _Revenge._ "

[-]

 **Kīlauea, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"Well then…" whispered Pele, her eyes directed to the sky as she languished in her pool of lava. Safely caged in her fire, the Serpent's Crown rested several feet away. "I suppose that should cover the story thus far. I thought you ought to know."

She received no response from the addressee; at least, none that a mortal would be able to discern. But the Volcano Goddess wasn't deterred.

This was a matter of family, after all.

"It is an unfortunate consequence of the Law of Oberon. Well-intentioned though it may be," she said softly. "For though it restricts our more malevolent brethren from preying upon the mortals…so, too, does it make it difficult for us to _help_ them. And these travelers will need all the help they can get in the battle to come."

This time, Pele paused for several moments, as if hearing something no one else could. Not that it would've mattered, as she was alone on this mountain once more, but…

"I see…" was her murmured reply. "A plan of great risk, to be sure. But it may indeed be worth the attempt. You have my blessing, sister."

Again, a hypothetical observer would've likely seen no evidence that the goddess' words were acknowledged by any but herself.

But one who diligently followed the line of her sight might've noticed a slight darkening of a spot on the moon. It was brief, only for a moment, and then the crescent was shining just as brilliantly as before.

Almost as if the moon was _winking_ back.


	7. Episode VII: Akua

_**Gargoyles: TimeDancer – Hawaiki – Episode VII: Akua**_

 _Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Gargoyles. All Gargoyles-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Disney, Greg Weisman, and Frank Paur._

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

It was a horrific sight, watching Honua quite literally tear Keōua's army apart.

Though her muscles were paltry in comparison to her rookery daughter's, the strength she wielded now seemed on par with that of Māui – but she lacked any of the demigod's restraint. Each physical blow she struck was violently lethal, caving in flesh and leaving deep, bleeding gashes wherever her talons could reach.

The warriors' physical weapons, from spears to clubs to sling-stones, failed to impede her in any way, though _not_ because she made any effort to avoid them. Rather, she simply wasn't _affected_ by stabbing or blunt trauma, storming on like a juggernaut of death straight through their attacks.

Even the sorcerers were ineffectual at best, as their elemental attacks were shrugged off just the same as the physical ones. Their magical barriers barely even slowed her down, as she tore through each by sheer force of will.

One after another, Keōua's men breathed their last, Honua never sparing a single glance to the trail of corpses she left in her wake.

Just a few minutes later, all that remained of Keōua's sixty-strong army was a messy pile of blood and offal – the only survivors those who'd had the sense to abandon a lost cause when they saw one.

Them…

And Keōua Kūʻahuʻula himself.

"We have to leave this place," said Benuthet, quietly but urgently.

"Hey, I'm always in favor of running _away_ from the horrifically wrongsick thing. Y'know, just for a change of pace," replied Brooklyn, as the pair of them plus Makani used the chaos to regroup. "But I think it's part of our 'good guy' contracts not to turn tail at a time like this."

It was a weak bit of humor, to mask the sheer horror they all felt right now. It didn't fool anyone – least of all Brooklyn himself.

"You don't understand, my friend," the Egyptian gargoyle told him, staring shrewdly at the slaughter before them. "This isn't a mere fight between humans and _Harmakhis_ anymore. Honua has made herself into some form of Avatar."

Makani, who was already all but struck dumb at the sight of the massacre, glanced toward him with alarm.

"Wh…What does _that_ mean?" she demanded anxiously.

"It means she's using an artifact to channel energies from a member of the Third Race," he explained. "I'm not sure which Child she's connected to, nor whether the union was entirely voluntary. But even if it _was,_ I doubt she grasps the full consequences of what she's done."

"Which are…?" asked Brooklyn, frowning.

"She clearly melded with this Child in an incredibly vulnerable state. Right now, its magic is probably the only thing keeping her alive," said the scholar. "But all forms of strength are connected – strength of the body, of the spirit, of the mind. A body physically weakened by pain or injury is that much less able to contain the prodigious power of a god."

"…Meaning she'll die either way," murmured Makani, her voice shuddering.

"And soon, if the magic keeps burning through her body at this rate," he declared solemnly. "I'm sorry, Makani. There's nothing more we can do for her."

"There _has_ to be!" exclaimed the tattooed gargoyle, claws clutched into meaty fists. "I refuse to…to let all _this_ be for nothing!"

She gestured, nearly in tears, to the nearest slain human, a look of utter terror frozen forever on his bloodstained face.

"Without knowing _how_ their bond was forged, even _I_ am powerless to separate Child from Vessel," said Benny. "And even if I _could,_ she would simply die of her original wound. She's not using the magic to heal herself, though she easily could. Rather, whatever is inside of her prevents her from _feeling_ the damage. All her injuries are still there. They're _still_ killing her."

"Please…Please, _Peni_ …" she whispered, now crying in earnest. It was the first time she'd used the nickname – or the closest thing she could pronounce. "I know she's…she's… _horrible._ As a mother. As a leader. This isn't about making excuses for what she's done. What she's _just_ done."

Her beak clenched, as her well-toned body shook with sheer emotion.

"But she's still _my_ mother," she continued on, her tone imploring. "I don't want… _this_ …to be the last thing she does in life. I don't want her to die a monster."

The scholar's five-fingered claws closed tighter around his ivory wand.

"There…may be _one_ thing I could try," he eventually admitted, his deep voice rumbling. "The Orichalcum she's crudely attached to her body is clearly the conduit for this sorcery. As with de Landa's Skull, its usage for this purpose will taint the crystals forever. But if we can remove them and, just as quickly, use of the 'clean' crystals in my satchel to seal her wound…"

"Benny, hold up," Brooklyn cut in. "I remember what happened with the Crown. Those things aren't just gonna let you yank 'em out without a fight."

"That's why I was hesitant to mention the option," said Benuthet. "There's a very real chance the magical feedback could kill both Honua…and whoever's attempting to extract the crystals. And that's if the connection can even _be_ severed. I'm not sure. I don't know enough about the sorcery of this region."

It wasn't a sentence he'd had to speak often, in their sojourns across time and space. There were connections between _all_ forms of magic; common threads he could follow in lands as remote as Guatemala or Madagascar, back to the familiar paths of his training.

But the sorcery here had developed in total isolation for _centuries._ Even with two of the components firmly within the realm of his knowledge – an Avatar spell, and the Orichalcum used as its conduit – he had no idea how much _else_ was involved, under the surface.

It was like trying to prepare a meal while knowing only half the ingredients. Everything beyond that was guesswork…and he didn't always trust his guesses.

Makani, however, took the decision out of his claws.

"I'll do it," she stated firmly. "And I'll accept whatever consequences come after."

[-]

Elsewhere in the valley, the destruction of the Megalith Dance, and the carnage that'd taken place in its wake, was causing no end of problems for the remainder of the Hawaiian Clan.

Uila had spent most of his life dutifully keeping his head down, doing what his mothers and fathers told him to do and rarely asking questions. And it'd served him well.

Honua had noticed his talent for numbers and organization even as a hatchling, and placed him in charge of making sure the clan never ran out of its increasingly limited resources. In the traditions of both _Nawao_ and the native humans, the land wasn't something it was possible to "own," but a shared space from which _all_ should benefit.

Which was where Uila came in. Ensuring that the plants weren't overharvested and the waters weren't overfished. If they were to remain separate from the humans, then they only had so much of each to go around.

But all he'd ever done, he'd done with _Honua's_ authority. When he told a brother or sister to stay away from the pigs for the next few moons and let their population recover, _he_ wasn't the one to fear if they disobeyed.

Sending that foreign _Nawao_ away had been, quite possibly, the first decision he'd ever made for the clan himself.

And he still wasn't certain it'd been the right one.

Nevertheless, he was now the one the clan was looking toward for guidance. Simply because there were no other options, and _someone_ had to lead.

He was, truthfully, _way_ in over his head here. But what other choice did he _have?_

"We've returned from our survey, brother," said Hau'oli, the pink-skinned male touching down in front of him alongside his mate. "The latest tremors caused a large rockslide toward the east edge of the valley. Our banana and breadfruit groves on that side were completely buried."

"The last ones not already taken by the sickness," muttered Uila, shaking his head at their poor fortune. "At this rate we'll have a full-on food crisis within weeks. We should add more heads to the hunting party, see if we can make up the difference with meat."

"That's going to be… _difficult,_ " Kaha replied, her tones subdued and melancholic. "Twenty-eight members of the clan were injured, from falls or debris; nine of them severely. I doubt we can muster more than five or six to hunt tonight."

Uila clutched at his head as he heard these words, recognizing the early symptoms of panic and trying to do his best to quell them. He'd never been good at dealing with the unexpected. It's why he liked numbers – cold, simple, logical numbers.

Numbers were what they were; there was never a time when twelve _kukui_ trees could, in the next moment, be eleven or thirteen. Dealing with other _Nawao_ was different. When things were going well, he could keep himself calm; take his time to really _read_ them, since it usually took him longer than most.

But in a crisis, his brothers and sisters became walking enigmas. He needed the world to slow down so he could catch up, but it _never_ did.

Ironically, it was in those moments that he genuinely appreciated, even if most could not, _why_ their leader had selected Makani as Second.

Because it was the times when everything seemed lost, when their normally timid sister was at her _most_ confident. Because she _had_ to be.

Uila didn't have that. And he doubted he ever would.

"I know this is hard for you, brother…" said Hau'oli, placing what he no doubt hoped to be a comforting claw on Uila's shoulder. "But the clan _needs_ a decision. We still don't know what's been causing these quakes. For all we know, another could be just on the horizon."

Their provisional leader nodded a couple of times to indicate he'd heard, but said nothing for a while; his yellow pot-belly rising and falling rapidly with his shallow breaths.

Eventually, once he regained his voice, he found himself asking, "Did we make a mistake? Rejecting the help of the _hā'ole_ female?"

"She couldn't be trusted, Uila. Any alliance not rooted in trust is doomed to fail," Kaha declared, crossing her thin arms. "I don't deny those strange _Nawao_ raise any number of questions, simply by _existing._ But we cannot rely on _hā'ole_ to solve our own problems. If, of course…they aren't _causing_ those problems to begin with."

"The sickness was spreading across the island _long_ before those travelers arrived, my love," Hau'oli reminded his mate.

"We don't actually _know_ that," she said, furrowing her eyebrow ridges. "Our encounter at Kīlauea may've been the first time we _met,_ but there's no guarantee they haven't been on the island for _months._ What, do you think they just… _magically_ popped out of the sky above the volcano?"

"I suppose if they came by ship with the pale-faced humans, it'd certainly explain a few things," Uila spoke up, grateful that the subject of conversation had shifted away from one where he'd have to make a decision. "I've never really thought about it, but if other lands exist with humans, then surely they have their own _Nawao_ as well."

"But _why_ would they inflict such pain on our land, even if they _could?_ " murmured Hau'oli with a frown.

"I don't know, beloved," Kaha admitted. "And so long as we're able to stop it…I don't really _care._ That's where our focus needs to be. On a solution – not endless rehashing of the problem."

"You have a point, sister," stated Uila, sighing deeply. "I just wish I had some clue what that solution might _be._ "

Suddenly, there was a rustling sound around them, as if something was moving quickly through the tall undergrowth. Then…

"Perhaps I can help with that."

[-]

While the trio of gargoyles held their whispered conversation, Honua – or the thing that was wearing her skin – slowly circled around Keōua Kūʻahuʻula.

He remained rooted to his improvised throne, the broken dais that'd once helped enforce the seal over Hawaiki. Knowing he was outmatched, he dared not make a move, his face equal parts terrified and defiant.

"I have waited so, so, _so_ long for this, _human,_ " she said in two voices, a rough masculine one ebbing and flowing around her own. "To you, my mate was nothing. A mere trifle in the midst of your pathetic feud with Kamehameha. Do you even remember giving the order to _murder_ him?"

"I don't," he snarled back, fingers clenching tight around the spear he knew to be less than useless right now. "But if he gave his life to help grant my birthright, then you should be _proud._ When I am king, it will be a golden age – for humans and _Nawao._ What is a single life compared to _that?_ "

Honua hissed back at him, a visceral, guttural noise it didn't seem a beak should be able to produce.

"Always so _arrogant._ So secure in your titles and noble blood. Your kind are all the same," she told him, still circling. "I'll show you the _true_ nature of power, soon enough. I'll rip you. I'll tear you. I'll make sure there isn't a single _scrap_ of your body to be remembered by."

Her tongue, one of the parts of her body that was most visibly _not_ its natural length or hue, flicked out over her sneering beak.

"But I won't make it quick, like your warriors. Oh, no. You'll live for _hours_ before I let you pass from this world," she went on, relishing every word. "And you'll spend every last second of that time experiencing the pain I felt. Maybe I'll tear every strand of your muscles from the bone, one by one. Or heat your spearhead over a fire and dig it slowly into your eyes. I'll have time. It's quite literally _all_ I have left to do."

"And you call _me_ arrogant?" he said, with a sharp bark of a laugh. "You seem to be overlooking something, _Nawao._ One last piece I have left to play."

Then, suddenly, the chief lunged – but not for the Avatar bearing down upon him.

Instead, he reached for the body of one of his sorcerers, who'd fallen slumped against a collapsed stone pillar. A moment later, Keōua held up a dirty, sweaty fist in triumph – clutching half a dozen glowing crystals of his own.

"Whatever has happened to you, _Nawao,_ one thing is clear: it's made you _strong,_ " he bellowed to the heavens. "I _want_ that kind of strength – the strength to protect my home from the savages who invade her! And I'll do _whatever_ it takes to get it!"

There was a moment of silence, Honua's fiery glare so intense that it seemed liable to burn a hole straight through him.

Then, abruptly, her expression changed, and her mouth opened to speak. But this time, there was no trace of her own feminine tones. Only that _other_ voice, low and rasping and utterly _wrong._

And what it said was: " _So be it._ "

Instantly, the crystals in Keōua's palm began to vibrate frenetically, rattling and humming with such violence that it was practically audible. Yet the chief's grip on them didn't relax, even as his eyes went wide with horror.

After a moment, Benny realized why he hadn't let them go. He _couldn't._

The Orichalcum was _spreading,_ the crystals digging into Keōua's flesh like jagged, hungry teeth. And within each, something – a sort of distortion – was starting to appear. It was somewhat akin to a bit of ink dropped into water, starting small and then spreading throughout.

Within seconds, each of the crystals was precisely the same, murky purple as the ones keeping Honua alive.

And still, the Orichalcum continued to grow and grow, overtaking his hand until barely an inch of tanned flesh could be seen. It was like some kind of obscene, twisted gauntlet, molded so deeply into Keōua's skin that it was impossible to tell where one ended, and the next began.

There were a few moments of silence as the growth of the Orichalcum slowed to a crawl, the chief twisting and flexing his transformed arm experimentally. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the silent scream upon his lips changed to cruel, booming laughter.

"I feel it! The _power!_ " he cried out, holding the crystalline fist high. "It's _you,_ isn't it? The voice I've been hearing all this time? The voice that promises a path back to the old Hawai'i – a _pure_ Hawai'i!"

As he spoke these words, an echo joined his own voice as well…

And it didn't take one of Brooklyn's "detectives" to recognize that it and Honua's were one and the same.

"The only 'pure' Hawai'i is one where _you_ monsters are wiped clean from the land!" said Honua shrilly. The fact that the same rumbling undertones sounded beneath _both_ of their voices only made their arguing sound all the stranger – and all the more disturbing. "But if you wish to die by my talon, right now? Then let it be _done!_ "

Honua lunged forward, aiming a claw with the force of a charging elephant directly at the chief's chest. Purely out of instinct, Keōua seized his spear from the ground and attempted to use it to parry…

And succeeded. The moment the weapon touched his cursed hand, it took on the same appearance as the corrupted Oricalchum – and, apparently, the mineral's legendary hardness. A sadistic leer spread over the man's face.

"You don't _deserve_ this power, creature," he spat, forcing her back with a wide sweep of his lance. "Your kind _had_ their chance. Now you'll be ground to dust, right alongside the _hā'ole!_ Such is the will of the gods!"

"We were just _sent_ by one of your 'gods,' buddy!" Brooklyn suddenly interjected, unable to hold his tongue any longer. "And trust me. She doesn't want _any_ of you guys wiping each other out!"

"You think your lies could possibly twist _my_ resolve?" demanded Keōua, now advancing on Honua, each of their movements lightning quick as they dueled for dominance, spear against claw. "I was chosen at birth to bear their cause! To save my homeland from the _hā'ole_ and their false god!"

"Let me ask you something, Keōua Kūʻahuʻula," said Benuthet, a sad frown upon his face. "Which of the _akua_ do you think now dwells within you?"

For a split second, the chief stopped in his tracks. But the confidence in his face only wavered for a moment. The wicked grin returned to his face as he answered smoothly, "It is Kū, of course. The God of War. Guardianship of his power is my birthright – another thing stolen from me by that wretched usurper."

That name triggered a scrap of memory in all three gargoyles. But it was Makani, who knew this world best, who put the pieces together first.

"Kūka'ilimoku, Snatcher of the Land, cannot be the one who speaks to you," she told him softly. "Because he has been dead for over one thousand years. We heard it directly from Pele herself."

" _Lies!_ " he roared, and the magical energy that'd poured into his arm all but exploded. His efforts to break Honua's guard redoubled in ferocity, but his movements also grew wider, less controlled.

It gave the orange gargoyle precisely the opening she needed.

With both claws, she grabbed onto her enemy's arms, forcibly prying them apart. Then, with no weapons left to fight with…she gored him right through the chest with her sharp, angular beak.

Keōua wailed in pain as he fell to the ground, taking Honua with him. The bladed club he'd stolen from her during their last confrontation tumbled from his waist. Extricating her bloodstained beak from his flesh, she scrambled for it, before running it across the crystals lining her abdomen.

A satisfied sneer appeared across her beak as the same thing happened, and the tainted Orichalcum spread over her weapon as well.

"Appropriate, isn't it?" she said, seeming to _relish_ the low echo in her voice. "This club, which has fought by my side for twice your worthless _lifetime,_ was crafted from the teeth of a shark. A _kinolau_ to your precious Kū. What better way to finally sate my revenge?"

That was all she felt like speaking, before bringing down the weapon with all her supernatural strength.

Again, at the last moment, all Keōua was able to do was raise his spear, and hope it would be enough to deflect the ferocious attack. The two crystalline weapons clashed, and a sound not unlike screeching nails sounded throughout the entire valley.

"You know what the difference is between us, human?!" exclaimed Honua, using every ounce of her strength to try and push through the chief's final defense. "I don't _care_ where this power comes from! Whether it be _akua,_ good or evil…I'd even accept a bargain from the _Kulaik_ -God the _hā'ole_ worship, if that's what it takes. It doesn't _matter!_ All that matters…"

The next words were screamed out by both warriors at once, the undertones surrounding each of their voices briefly harmonizing into a single, horrific cry:

"…Is that you _die!_ "

"What's going on, Benny?" asked Brooklyn, as the clash began to radiate out pulses of that same violet energy, each wave stronger than the next. Around them both, the plants on the ground began to wither and die.

"A Child can only be channeled by a single Avatar at a time," explained the scholar, his hands twitching toward both his wand and his _khopesh_ – unsure which one, if _either,_ would be helpful now. "Whichever entity we're dealing with, it's found both these two to be… _kindred spirits,_ of sorts. It's lent them both a portion of its power, but neither is a _full_ Avatar."

"Unless one of them manages to kill the other," Makani realized aloud, gasping softly.

"Precisely," said Benuthet. "I think it's biding its time, waiting to see which of them proves more… _worthy._ "

"And if we don't get a winner soon?" asked Brooklyn, his gaze drawn to a tree a few feet away…which was rotting to nothing before their eyes.

"Then the splitting of the magic will likely tear them both apart," he whispered. "And perhaps take this entire valley with it."

"That's all I needed to hear," Makani declared, not looking at either of her companions.

Then, without warning, she took off at full sprint toward the dueling pair.

[-]

Uila gaped blankly as a number of plants around the clearing were pulled aside at once, revealing more humans than he could possibly count.

The one who'd spoken, who wore garb and a head covering far grander than any of his fellows, cleared his throat and then planted a tall spear into the earth.

"I am Kamehameha. King of the humans of Hawai'i," he said to the trio of gargoyles, his tones booming and commanding in a way he'd only ever seen Honua comfortably pull off. "I come offering a hand of friendship to your clan. At a time, it seems…where you have great need of it."

"We are 'friends' with no humans," hissed Kaha, her one good ear flaring up. "Particularly not you _ali'i._ How many of our kind have suffered – have _perished_ – in the name of your inane struggles for power?"

"As many, or more, as have my own," Kamehameha responded, speaking plainly, with no more than the barest hint of emotion. "Hear me now, _Nawao:_ I seek no unnecessary bloodshed. But neither will I shed tears for the sacrifices that _must_ be made, if Hawai'i is to stand tall and proud. As the kingdom, envy of the world, that it was always meant to be."

"With due respect, our leader has already given you her answer," stated Hau'oli, trying to be a bit more placating than his mate. "We want no part in your ambitions. Our clan remains as it always has – neutral."

"I grow tired of having to explain this, _Nawao,_ " spoke another of the humans, a woman of wide girth and stern face. "But neutrality is a luxury you can no longer afford. Things cannot be as they once were. No matter how fervently we may wish otherwise."

"My Queen speaks truth," a pale man added, his sullen face bowed. Uila recognized him as one of a pair of humans who'd attempted – unsuccessfully – to cajole Honua into an alliance in the past. The other was nowhere to be seen. "I come from a land called 'Britain,' which once was home to thousands of your kind. But times changed, and allegiances shifted. In time, I'm ashamed to say…my people wiped yours from our shores."

"I do not wish to see this history repeated here," said Kamehameha. "I will not _allow_ it to be. Humans and _Nawao_ alike are the chosen of Kāne, elevated over all other mortal creatures. Their wanton slaughter is an affront to the gods. One way or another…it ends with me."

"One way…or another?" repeated Uila, the phrase feeling somewhat strange to his tongue. "What do you mean?"

"Either your clan joins with mine, and together, we restore a glory not seen since we set sail from Hawaiki," the king answered, arms crossed before his broad chest. "Or else, we shall meet on the field of battle. Know that I do not desire this; I have made more than enough enemies in my lifetime. But neither will I back away, if you leave me no choice in the matter."

The reaction of the three gargoyles was immediate and visceral. Kaha's eyes glowed red as she snarled sharply at the gathered humans, while Hau'oli's body tensed up and his hand reached for a club at his belt, ready to defend his mate.

Uila, meanwhile, stood there stunned, unsure whether he'd just heard what he thought he had.

"The edicts of Kū are clear in this regard," Kamehameha continued on. "The slaying of another, for no just cause, is _kapu_ of the highest order – should it occur in a time of peace. Only in war can sacrifices be offered. The enemy must be permitted a chance to fight back, on equal ground. To do otherwise is to poison the tribute."

"So… _that_ is our choice?" demanded Kaha, her tones blazing with barely suppressed fury. "Join with you, or die?"

"If you see an alternative, _Nawao,_ then you are welcome to suggest it," said the king. "I would leave the Waimanu Valley in peace, if I could. But you should realize that is, as the _hā'ole_ say…a ship that has sailed. Your valley has _already_ been invaded, and it is _already_ a battlefield."

"Wait…what?" stammered Uila, finally finding his voice again. "Wh…What're you talking about?"

The rotund woman shook her head. "Really, now. This shouldn't be so hard to grasp," she replied impatiently. "What did you think those rumblings from the ground were – a merry game of _'ulu maika?_ Keōua's armies march through your home as we speak. Left unimpeded, they will strike at the very heart of that which you protect."

"The…heart?" asked Hau'oli, his deep-chinned beak sagging into something like a frown. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. Only your leader and Second are permitted to learn that secret," the white man told him softly. "But that is not the _only_ source of such knowledge."

"Indeed. Now, let's dispense with the pleasantries, Young. Time is of the essence," came a calm voice from within the trees.

A few seconds later, another figure pushed their way past Kamehameha's warriors. They were dressed in a gray cloak, so that most of their features were hidden from view, but a couple of things were immediately clear.

One, that the figure was distinctly and unambiguously female, in both form and voice. And two…

That she _wasn't_ human.

"The destruction of a Dance makes our efforts in Polynesia a top priority," she said, speaking the Hawaiian tongue with an accent similar to, but distinct from, that of her fellow foreigner. "The Society can no longer afford a light touch here."

"Considering _your_ presence, milady? I was already pretty sure of that," murmured the man she called "Young," a brief frown passing over his face. "Twenty-nine, incidentally. I'm afraid I'm still getting used to Bavaria's little 'numbers' game."

The stranger pursed her lips, before reaching up with four-fingered hands tipped with talons, and slowly pulling down her hood. The face beneath it was slate-gray in tone, and very beautiful…

If, like Uila, one happened to be attracted to female _Nawao._

"Four," she returned coolly.

[-]

Before Brooklyn or Benuthet could do anything, Makani had already launched herself straight at Honua and Keōua.

While neither the clan leader nor the chief were slouches in the strength department – particularly now, with both enhanced by Third Race magic – Makani was about the size and weight of both of them put together.

As such, her momentum sent all three of them sprawling to the ground in a messy heap, eliciting a sharp growl of pain from Keōua and a screech of fury from Honua. Her crystalline blade slashed ferociously at the air, missing Makani's face only because of the awkward angle.

"Get _off_ of me, you useless idiot!" shouted the fire-orange gargoyle, thrashing to try and extricate herself from her rookery daughter's grip. "I'm _trying_ to save our clan!" 

"No, mother. You're _trying_ to get revenge," said Makani, her tones trembling but defiant. "You said it yourself – that's all you care about right now."

"Tonight, they're one and the same!" Honua exclaimed. "This wretched creature stole _everything_ from me! The love of my life! Now he wants to do the same to my children. I won't allow it! I'll tear this island to _pieces_ before I let that happen!"

"That's the _akua_ talking, mother," spoke the tattooed gargoyle. "You need to…"

"Enough of this!" Keōua interrupted her with a snarl. He too was trying to struggle out of Makani's iron grip, unable to lift his crystallized arm high enough to wield the spear it held effectively. "Die, you overgrown nēnē! Die die die die _die!_ "

But Makani only tightened her hold on both the combatants, pinning them to the ground like a professional wrestler.

This didn't come without cost, however. The energy that'd been building between the two pseudo-Avatars had been broken, and it needed to go _somewhere._ So it flowed, all at once, through the nearest living thing it could find.

Makani herself.

It was clearly an intensely painful experience, judging by the look upon the poor gargoyle's face. Though no sound escaped her beak, it seemed to be taking all her strength and willpower to _keep_ it that way. Any second now, she was surely going to break – but she was going to hold off that moment for as long as she _possibly_ could.

Without thinking about it, Brooklyn found himself moving to help her. But Benuthet held him back.

"The magical circuit is destabilized enough, with just _one_ additional individual," he said. "Introduce another and the magic is likely to react… _explosively._ "

"So we just have to sit back and _watch_ this?" demanded the Scottish gargoyle, clenching his fists helplessly.

"And trust that our new friend knows what she's doing," Benny confirmed with a single, solemn nod.

Makani, meanwhile, had begun to put her plan into action. Inch by inch, her claws crept toward Keōua's arm and Honua's abdomen, careful not to relax the tension in her arms as she did. Then, simultaneously, she sunk her talons into both.

Instantly, that same, horrific screech filled the skies again. If magic was like music, then this was the equivalent of every instrument in an orchestra suddenly playing a hundred different, equally sour notes, and it was all Brooklyn could do to keep from crying out himself.

And yet still, Makani persisted, her claws squeezing tighter and tighter into the tainted Orichalcum.

"What in the world do you think you're _doing?!_ " snapped Honua, barely in control of her faculties as she thrashed about with all her supernatural strength. "Let me…let me _go…!_ "

"Not this time, mother. I'm freeing you," said Makani, grunting and gasping through the pain. "No matter _what_ it takes."

Another sound rang through the entire valley – like that of hard glass, cracking into a million shards. Joining it were the bellowing screams of Honua and Keōua alike, harsh and guttural, synchronizing so thoroughly it was hard to tell one from the other.

Then…silence.

The last thing they saw was a flash of brilliant, blinding light.

[-]

 **Hawaiki, 1790 A.D.**

"Of all the gods or demigods I'd have preferred to be imprisoned alongside…" spoke Kāne, after several pregnant moments. "You would not been my first choice, Māui. With no offense intended, of course."

"I…dunno how I'm supposed to _not_ take offense to that, to be honest," said the Trickster, raising one of his big, bushy eyebrows. "But hey, I know better than to argue with the boss."

"I meant only that in situations like this, you'd be the sort I'd expect to _rescue_ me," the god-chief clarified. "Your troublemaking ways tend to prove themselves useful in a crisis."

Then, with his gaze turned up at the forty-foot eel towering over them, he added mutedly, "And this _certainly_ qualifies."

The god had been deposited at Māui's side by the _Huaka'i Pō,_ bound at the shoulders and around his ankles by heavy iron chains. Because the humans of Polynesia had never taken to refining metals, it'd been _centuries_ since he'd felt the element's cold sting. He, like the rest of the still-living _akua,_ had grown complacent.

Te Tunaroa, for his part, bore down upon the pair with undisguised hatred. "How does it feel, traitor?" he exclaimed to Kāne, displaying razor-sharp fangs. "What good did it do you to throw in with the whelp's rebellion, _really?_ After all this time…what do you have to show for it?"

The Eel God's enormous, slimy body flicked about, as if gesturing to the ruins that surrounded them on every side.

"Your paradise is lost to the ages. And the new land you've claimed is a blink of an eye from being swallowed – by strange humans from foreign shores," he continued to hiss. "In the end, you turned against our one true mistress for _nothing._ "

Despite the stifling weight of the iron, Kāne found himself attempting to stand. "You have no _idea_ what you're talking about," he said, voice rumbling with power he couldn't presently wield. "Mother foreswore my loyalty when she killed my brothers in cold blood. I'd sooner follow a buzzing fly than serve that witch one day further."

"It's amusing you think you'll have a _choice,_ " replied Te Tunaroa. "We – the _true_ Children of Papatūānuku – have known for _eons_ what the whelp and his mortal playmates have tried to deny. That this is but a brief respite between two great wars. And when the fighting resumes, none who stand against Her Court will be spared."

"If the last one hadn't ended with your boss and his chums getting their butts handed to 'em, then I _might_ be shaking a little more," Māui piped up, rolling his eyes. "That's always been your problem, Tuney. The bigger a game you talk…the more obvious it is you just don't measure up."

"Who is his 'boss'?" asked Kāne, before taking a look around them, as if seeing it all properly for the first time. "Unless…you cannot mean…"

"Oh, my Master is _quite_ looking forward to this little… _family reunion,_ " Te Tunaroa taunted back, and the pair was briefly treated to the bizarre sight of a titanic eel _snickering._ "Unfortunately, He's a little busy at the moment. But that's alright. After all…you two aren't going _anywhere._ "

Still struggling to face his enemy on his own two feet, the god-chief let loose a frightening growl.

"I gave up everything… _everything_ …to stop my brother the first time," he said, meaty fists clenched tight. "But hear this, God of Eels: that I'd do it again in a _heartbeat._ One way or another, his darkness _will_ end here!"

"I'm trembling," the eel sneered back. "Now, leave us! Until the Master returns, he's given me permission to do as I will with these two. And oh, the _fun_ I shall have…"

Those last words were directed to the _Huaka'i Pō,_ who – departed human and gargoyle alike – obediently shuffled away, offering no resistance as they disappeared into the darkness surrounding them.

"How'd you do this to them, anyway?" demanded Māui, his expression stricken. "Those are proud warriors! I fought alongside some of them! Lizard-face doesn't have _that_ kind of power!"

Te Tunaroa just laughed, a vicious and petty sound.

"Truly, you understand _nothing,_ " he told the pair, yellow eyes glinting with triumph. "Really, the solution has been staring you right in the face. You've just been too afraid to put the pieces together."

Māui tilted his head, looking puzzled. But the moment he heard these words, Kāne sunk back to his knees, eyes wide with horror.

"No…" he whispered, the fire that'd burned within him just moments ago all but snuffed out. "No no no no no _no_ …"

"I see he's no longer blind to the truth. Better late than never, I suppose," said the Eel God. "Would you like to join him in that, _hero?_ Shall I reveal who _truly_ holds you captive?"

Without waiting for a response, his enormous tail unraveled from around the pair, enabling them to finally see who stood beyond the coils, watching passively.

Kāne, who'd already deduced what he was about to see, said nothing, but only remained kneeling, fighting back furious tears.

But Māui's gasp was sharp enough to cut to the bone.

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

Brooklyn wasn't sure how much time had passed when he next opened his eyes. It could've been three seconds, or three hours.

Either way, the first thing he saw was Keōua Kūʻahuʻula, sprawled upon the ground and barely conscious.

"Wh…What happened…?" the young chief gasped out, coughing and sputtering through a mouthful of blood. With a great effort he managed to flex each of his limbs, testing that they still had sensation – but when it was time for his right arm, his eyes shot wide open.

For it was flesh once again.

"No… _No!_ " he roared, though the hoarseness in his throat tempered the impact. "I…was so _close!_ I had it! The power…The power to save my home!"

"He was only bonded to the Orichalcum for a short time. It seems the connection was severed before it could fully integrate with his body," said Benuthet, his expression neutral. He, like Brooklyn, was just beginning to pick himself up from the ground, though he took it with better stride. "I'm more concerned about…"

"Makani!" exclaimed Brooklyn, interrupting him.

The Hawaiian gargoyle was crouched down in a kneeling position, her face screwed up in obvious pain. Her right arm, which'd been pinning down Keōua, looked scratched and bruised, but otherwise fine; nothing stone sleep wouldn't be able to cure.

But her left…

"Don't worry about me!" she cried out, clutching her left claw to her chest, so the others couldn't see it. "Save _her!_ You said you wouldn't have much time!"

And indeed, on her other side lay Honua, the violet crystals nowhere to be seen – and consequently, the gaping wound in her abdomen leaking blood like a spigot.

Benuthet immediately hurried over, hands searching through his satchel as he did. Brooklyn kept his distance, so he could keep an eye on both Makani and Keōua, but he could see his friend kneeling down in front of the clan leader, one blue-white crystal held tightly between his talons.

For a moment, he saw a flash of Doctor Sato tending to Goliath's stab wound, just a few short weeks before he'd first touched the Gate.

Fortunately, unlike Jay Sato's first, uncertain foray into treating a gargoyle patient, Benny had healed this very same injury with this very same remedy, several times over. Brooklyn stood there, jaw set, as he watched the Orichalcum quite literally work its magic.

That jaw fell into a frown as he looked upon the carnage surrounding them; the senseless slaughter of the men whose lives Keōua had so cavalierly thrown away. Did their murderer _really_ deserve this chance, which none of them had been afforded?

Ultimately, Brooklyn just sighed. It was an academic question, now – if a painful one. They were dead and gone.

Whatever else Honua was…she was still alive. She _could_ be saved.

The sheer size of the wound, and the festering the tainted Orichalcum had caused in it, meant this was going to take a few minutes. In the meantime, the TimeDancer strode over to Makani, who was still keeled over, fighting to keep whines of pain from escaping her beak.

"Can…Can I see it?" he said, doing his best to muster what few scraps of tact he possessed. "I just wanna make sure everything's…y'know…"

She whimpered, her eyelids blinking away tears, but eventually she nodded. Then, slowly, she turned over her tattooed left arm, so he could see the claw at the end of it.

Brooklyn tried his absolute hardest to avoid gasping. He wished he could say he succeeded.

It was immediately obvious why there was no longer any tainted Orichalcum anywhere to be found upon Honua's body. Because every last shard of it had been absorbed into Makani's own skin.

To be accurate, it was fairer to say it'd _become_ her skin. From the wrist downward, the gargoyle's claw looked to be made entirely of dark purple crystal, shimmering in the moonlight with a pallid, eerie glow.

It was more than what'd happened with Keōua, who simply seemed to be wearing the Orichalcum as an overlarge – if elaborate – gauntlet. It was more than what'd happened with Honua, where the crystals had dug deep into her flesh like biting teeth, but still remained wholly separate objects.

More than anything else, it was similar to what the Orichalcum had done to the pair's weapons – turning the wood, stone, and bone of war into a material akin to itself, but with the original tool's general shape.

Slowly, experimentally, Makani tensed each talon, watching with unconcealed revulsion as the crystal obeyed her mental commands.

"It feels…like I'm moving it while it's still stone," she whispered, her voice airy and hollow. "Like I'm asleep, and this is all just one long, horrible daymare. By the Mo'o, I _wish_ it was."

"Is…Is it any comfort if I say I've seen _way_ weirder?" said Brooklyn, taking a deep breath to steady his voice. "Because it's true. Hell, that wouldn't even be the strangest _hand_ I've seen. Takes a special kind of whacko to lop your own arm off and try attaching the mummified remains of a tenth-century monk."

The corner of Makani's beak twitched, but she merely replied, "I know what you're trying to do, _Pluk'līn,_ and I appreciate it…but I just can't hear it right now."

Brooklyn nodded, unsure what else to say. Shifting topics slightly, he decided to ask, "Do you have any idea how that might've…uh, happened? Maybe we should wait for Benny to give his wizardy two cents, but…"

"It spread. Like a disease," she cut him off, still flexing and unflexing the transformed claw, as if expecting it to freeze up at any moment. "Not really a surprise, considering who these crystals were trying to channel."

The TimeDancer sighed and nodded again, mutedly. They hadn't discussed it out loud, but it didn't take a genius to connect the dots.

Whiro. God of evil, darkness, and disease. Brooklyn supposed it wasn't a stretch for his very _essence_ to be virulent.

"Does it…like, hurt or anything?" he said.

"It doesn't _feel_ at all," Makani told him, a bit of bite to her voice. "That's part of what seems so… _wrong._ I can't feel _anything_ in it. I see it there on my body, but it doesn't…it doesn't feel like it's _mine._ "

Without thinking about it, Brooklyn reached over, trying to comfort her. But she pulled the arm away.

"Don't touch it!" she yelped, looking fearful. "What if it spreads to you too? Until we know for _sure_ what's going on, we need to be careful. You're right… _Penukek_ should see it. Perhaps he has experience with such sorcery."

At that moment, as if on cue, Benuthet roared a holler of pain.

Both of their gazes snapped toward their kneeling friend – and to Honua, whose sharp claws had scratched him across the chest, and were now holding him aloft by the throat.

" _I suppose that settles things,_ " she hissed, in a voice that wasn't entirely her own.

[-]

The slate-skinned _Nawao_ looked between them, nodding to one party, then the next.

"We have an accord, then?" she said, arms crossed with the quiet confidence of someone who'd done this a hundred times before. "This bargain will be acceptable to the both of you?"

King Kamehameha stood tall and proud, looking her directly in the eye. "I may be guardian to Kū, but the time of _Makahiki_ fast approaches," he responded. "I would far prefer to end this tale with peace, rather than bloodshed."

Uila looked a great deal more hesitant, but ultimately made a grunt of assent.

"We're left in a situation with no good options," he declared, very pointedly _not_ making eye contact. "This happens to be the least-bad among them."

"I can accept that. Though I'd certainly prefer if you didn't think of it along such… _negative_ terms," answered the female _Nawao,_ her talons toying absently with a _pūni_ – a small knee drum constructed from coconut skin. One of Kamehameha's warriors had brought it to the battle, and she seemed remarkably fascinated by the craftsmanship.

"This valley…this entire island…has fallen out of balance. The death of your crops is proof," she continued on, the majority of her attentions still on the drum. "The only way to correct these issues is to work together. No party is going to get _all_ of what they want. But this way…we'll all achieve what we _need._ "

"Assuming, of course, that whoever you represent isn't the _cause_ of this plague," Kaha spoke up, having watched the entire deal-making process with a mixture of disdain and active fury. "If we've told you once, we've told you a hundred times – we don't trust _hā'ole._ Any _hā'ole._ "

"I can accept that. I neither require, nor expect, your trust," said the dark-haired female. "Only your cooperation."

Uila let out a lengthy sigh…then extended an arm, symbols for thunder and lightning etched into it with ink.

"Then that, you will have," he murmured. "For however much good it'll do."

Kamehameha immediately clasped the yellow-skinned gargoyle by the forearm, sealing the agreement better than words ever could.

[-]

"Benny!" shouted Brooklyn, instinctively drawing his broadsword.

" _Stand back,_ " snarled Honua, the echo in her voice no longer ebbing and flowing, but now ever-present across every tone. " _This one has such a handsome neck. It'd be a shame if I was forced to snap it._ "

Both Brooklyn and Makani tensed up, and the former's eyes flashed a brief, angry white, but they kept their distance.

" _I saw potential in both of their wicked, rotten souls. Keōua Kūʻahuʻula, of the Naha line…and Honua, of Clan Hawai'i,_ " she said – or, perhaps more accurately, _it_ said. " _But clearly, I misjudged the human. He was far too weak to serve as my Vessel. Look at him now…crawled away, like a sniveling coward._ "

Brooklyn did a double-take, realizing the voice had told the truth. In all the confusion, he'd taken his eyes off Keōua for a couple of minutes, and the young chief had managed to slip away.

The TimeDancer swore under his breath.

" _I thought I'd lost my grip on this one as well. So fortunate you had a sorcerer in your midst,_ " the voice went on.

As it did, Honua's body turned slightly, allowing them to see what her _other_ claw was doing: grasping Benuthet by the wrist, and forcing the Orichalcum crystal he was still holding back into the wound.

That single crystal had turned an even darker, uglier purple than the last, as the gargoyle's scarred skin knitted together to form a seal around it.

" _You fail to realize just how deeply my hold over her runs,_ " it told them, twisting Honua's beak into a cruel sneer. " _She_ wants _my power. There isn't a single thing that could convince her otherwise. A shame my original conduit was damaged…but even a single crystal should be enough. As long as her hatred continues to burn bright as the sun._ "

"You…shouldn't be able to do this…" Benuthet managed to choke out, fighting to break free of the vicelike grip. Unfortunately, he'd dropped his wand to the ground in surprise at his "patient's" sudden attack, and his _khopesh_ still hung uselessly from the hip. "An Avatar is a melding of spirits…not one mind supplanting another…"

" _Oh, I assure you. Honua is_ very _much still in here,_ " it said. " _She's simply unconscious at the moment. Once she awakens, we will truly be as one. But in the meantime…_ "

The voice paused, and Honua's head tilted to the side. " _Ah…never mind, then,_ " it added, grinning wider. " _It seems it's time._ "

Suddenly, Honua's eyes shot wide open, glowing furiously. But rather than the normal red of a female gargate…

Their hue instead matched the violet one of the tainted Orichalcum.

Benuthet crashed roughly to the ground as Honua's body doubled over, screeching murder into the night. Burning energy suffused her, radiating out from the crystal, and spreading along the paths of her _kakau_ – the symbols of twisting flame that covered a great deal of her torso.

Then, she began to change.

The most obvious difference was one of size. Where the clan leader had been fairly short for a gargoyle, no more than a few inches above five feet, now her body was expanding to nearly ten.

Each of her limbs were elongating, while her clothing was stretched and torn to its breaking point by her new bulk, exposing more and more of the _kakau._ A rigid, scaly texture overtook her leathery skin.

Her wings, meanwhile, were shedding their feathers, while the grievous hole in the right one was mending itself with another layer of scales. They were joined shortly thereafter by a tail, the one piece of gargoyle anatomy the local clan seemed to lack – though it looked _nothing_ like any of their own. It was much longer, for one thing, and clearly reptilian, thrashing about as its owner continued her lengthy, painful transformation.

Honua's head came last. When she'd been serving as a "pseudo-Avatar" the changes to her features had been subtle, if disturbing. Now, however, it was becoming something else entirely.

Again, the features were reptilian in detail, but that hardly conveyed just how brutally _horrifying_ they were, melded atop and throughout Honua's original face. It became more angular, with a pronounced snout replacing her beak, and her ears sinking back into her skin. Her eyes shifted positions, moving until they were on either side of her head, and their pupils narrowed into slits.

But worst of all was when her new mouth opened, revealing rows upon rows of vicious fangs…and a cavernous maw that seemed to have no end to its depths.

"It's time to purge this island of _all_ who threaten my clan," said Honua, her original voice returned – but joined, just as intensely, by the other. Now, neither was softer or louder than the next; they were fully and completely as one. "And I think I'll start with the _biggest_ threat."

And with that, both of her eyes snapped – not simultaneously – toward the prone form of Benuthet.

Hastily, the Egyptian gargoyle darted to recover his wand, but Honua snapped him away with one, whiplike crack of her new tail. The scholar was sent flying nearly twenty feet, slammed into a tree trunk, and didn't get back up.

"You… _bitch!_ " cried Brooklyn, charging forward with a sharp thrust of his sword. But to his shock, Honua simply caught the blade in her hand, unfazed by the deep cuts it made in her now-scaly flesh.

"I won't tolerate anyone who poses a danger to my children. Be they human or _Nawao,_ " she declared, before backhanding Brooklyn with such force it very nearly dislocated his jaw. The Scottish gargoyle collapsed, coughing up blood.

"Or…" she continued in a deathly whisper, closing the distance between herself and her final target with only a few lengthy strides. "Even if they _are_ one of my children."

She raised one claw to the sky, and the two crystallized weapons – Keōua's spear and her own shark-tooth club – flew into her grip. There was another flash of violet light, and when it dissipated, the two had combined into one. Now the weapon resembled nothing if not a bladed pike, constructed entirely of corrupted Orichalcum, and gleaming in the moonlight.

Makani trembled, struggling to get back to her feet but tripping over herself out of panic.

"This is how it must be, daughter. If our clan is _truly_ to be restored," she said, her tone making it clear she _believed_ it, with all her heart and soul. "But don't worry. The _hā'ole_ will suffer… _all_ of them will suffer. But for you…I will make this painless."

That was when the foot of a descending gargoyle collided squarely with her jaw.

[-]

"Oh…one more thing, if you would," the female _Nawao_ whispered into Uila's ear, catching him by the shoulder before he could leave.

"Y…Yes?" he asked hesitantly.

"The three, ahem… _Nawao_ you mentioned encountering earlier," she said. "I'd like to hear more about them, if that's alright."

The corners of her lips twitched upward, just slightly.

"Particularly…" she added, without waiting for his reply. "That scarlet-colored female."

[-]

Like David striking down Goliath – and boy, was _there_ a metaphor that came off weird for Brooklyn, on at least _two_ levels – Honua collapsed to the ground under all her own, added weight. She slammed into a nearby boulder, _hard,_ and went still.

And as she did, Zafira touched down as well, albeit with far more grace.

"My love!" she exclaimed, immediately running over and taking hold of her injured mate. "Oh, my _Sak Chakmool_ …"

"My… _Meryt_ … _Nefer_ …" he returned, before wincing sharply; it was painful, it seemed, for him to speak. "It…is good to see you again…"

"I'm sorry it took me so long to return," said Zee, helping to ease him into a sitting position, before moving to help Brooklyn with the same. "I saw the flashes of your magic, and tried to make it here with sharpest haste…but I was constrained by transporting the beasts. I'm not strong enough to carry both comfortably, so I had to keep going back and forth, making stops along the cliffside."

"Where…are they now…?" asked Brooklyn, groaning at the effort as well. The side of his beak was beginning to swell up where Honua had struck him, and it distorted his speech somewhat.

"I left them in the forest some distance away, so I could get some height," she explained. "I tried to point them in this direction, but I lack your… _aptitude_ for engaging with them. I hope they understood me well enough…"

"My Kebechet…is a clever girl. Even by the standard of _sha_ …" Benny told her, through heavy breaths. "And I've observed…enough of Fu-Dog…to know he is of like mind. They should be…be…"

" _Peni!_ Don't fall asleep!" Makani shouted alarmedly, as the scholar's head began to loll. She didn't move toward him, apparently unwilling to risk touching anyone, but looked on with concern.

Zafira acted as soon as Brooklyn was back to a stable position, clutching at the Egyptian gargoyle and speaking softly. "Stay with us, my love," she whispered. "Be strong for me…be brave for me…"

It was the most any of them could really do. It seemed quite possible that Benuthet had sustained a head injury, and the only one of them capable of treating that safely was…

Well, Benuthet.

"Do not…worry about me…" he said, trying and largely failing to downplay another wince. "We need to…concentrate on…moving. She won't…stay down from that…for long…"

Makani shot a troubled glance toward Honua's prone form, swallowed, and then nodded.

"She took out two of the best warriors I've ever seen with a single blow each," she murmured, shrinking back. They could only see the back of her transformed head right now, but it was still intensely disturbing. "We can't hope to stay and fight. But…I'm not sure I can risk carrying…"

"Makani," Zee interrupted her, noticing for the first time. "What happened to your claw?"

The tattooed gargoyle's instincts were the same as before – to hastily stow her left hand out of view, as if was something immensely shameful. For whatever reason, though, this time her stricken expression was joined by a fierce blush.

"We can discuss it another night," she replied evasively. "Right now, we need to find a way to…"

"You…won't… _have_ … _another night!_ " Honua suddenly roared at the top of her lungs, that strange purple energy surrounding her once more.

With an immense, earthshaking effort, the Avatar drew herself back up to full height, each movement producing an audible crack of bone. Then, when she was standing once more, she grasped her skull with both claws and, with a gut-wrenching _crunch,_ turned it several degrees to the right.

Brooklyn realized, with a sharp churn of his stomach, the reason why she'd gone down even _that_ long: that, in the heat of battle, Zee's kick must've struck her hard enough to twist her neck.

Right now, she was bound so tightly to Whiro that even _that_ was something her body could survive.

"This…ends… _tonight,_ " said Honua, seething viciously as she pronounced each syllable. "I'll cleanse this island…if it's the last thing I do. Because now…I _have_ that power!"

And with that, she plunged her crystalline weapon straight through the shattered dais at the center of the stone circle, until its tip was buried deep within the earth.

Benuthet, at least, seemed to realize what she was about to do, a second before it occurred. But his injuries were too severe to take action.

None of them did. Not until it was too late.

A surge of energy radiated out through the dirt, centering upon the pike, its magic burning with untamed ferocity. The resulting tremor was the worst of them all, causing the ground to splinter and shatter so easily that it seemed more glass than stone.

"What are you _doing,_ mother?!" demanded Makani, shouting shrilly over the din – an overpowering hum that was low in pitch but earsplitting in volume.

"Making…things… _right,_ " the Avatar answered, her voice almost disturbingly calm.

The weapon, having reached its peak, exploded into a thousand tiny shards. And for the second time that night, Brooklyn's vision was overwhelmed by a burst of all-consuming, mystical light.

The last thing he heard before he blacked out completely…

Was a roar so loud, and so furious, it could split the skies.

[-]

Some distance away in the same valley, Kamehameha's army was busy dealing with the aftershocks of this final, enormous earthquake.

Standing apart from it, however, were John Young and the slate-skinned gargoyle, conversing softly.

"It seems that's my cue," she said, bracing herself against a tree as the ground continued to rumble violently. "There is much still left to do, to preserve the balance of these islands. I'll need to leave the rest in your capable hands, Young."

"You honor me greatly, milady," replied the boatswain, gritting his teeth to keep them from shaking too much. A moment later, his eyes narrowed. "Hold on a moment. Those mountains…in the distance. Are they…?"

"Yes," Tamora interrupted him, her expression composed but grim. "They're moving."


	8. Episode VIII: Mo'o

_**Gargoyles: TimeDancer – Hawaiki – Episode VIII: Mo'o**_

 _Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Gargoyles. All Gargoyles-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Disney, Greg Weisman, and Frank Paur._

[-]

 **Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.**

"Okay…I'm like ninety percent sure I just heard the signature Godzilla roar," said Brooklyn with a grimace. "So, umm, three problems. One…definitely not the right place for Godzilla. Two…definitely not the right _time_ for Godzilla. Three…okay, I can roll with Sherlock Holmes and Dracula being real. But I draw the _freaking line_ at Godzilla!"

His three gargoyle companions, to whom almost none of this made the slightest bit of sense, all looked at him with varying degrees of confusion. They were saved from the need to ask for clarification, however, as another blood-chilling roar split the sky.

"I know not this 'Godzilla,' my friend," Benuthet murmured, before clutching his head and wincing; he was still struggling to recover from Honua's attack. "But…these are not the cries of any ordinary creature. The Avatar just poured an incredible amount of magic into the earth."

"Have you seen this before?" asked Makani, whose eyes hadn't left her possessed rookery mother all this time.

The scholar frowned thoughtfully. "I've read about it," he replied. "Legends speak of an Atlantean sorcerer who used a trident of Orichalcum to animate an entire sea bed. The result was a stone automaton that guarded the ancient kingdom for eons, known only as 'Leviathan.' But it's unknown if there was a genuine grain of truth to the stories."

Suddenly, the Egyptian gargoyle felt his mate tug at his arm. "That…seems like evidence in favor, my love," said Zafira, pointing to the horizon.

All four pairs of eyes snapped forward…and, in unison, opened as wide as possible.

The Waimanu Valley was bordered on all but one side – the side that led out to the ocean – by rolling hills and towering mountains. Makani and the time travelers knew this well, having climbed up and down their faces several times over the past three nights.

But now, one of those mountains was rumbling with such intensity that it made the earlier tremors feel like an infant shaking a toy. Brooklyn peered closer, and began to realize some things he'd missed about _this_ particular mountain.

It was long, tall – but the curves of its slopes didn't quite match the others surrounding it. They were too… _smooth._ Rounded in certain places. As if its shape wasn't entirely natural.

The fact that it was beginning to _rise_ might've also been a hint.

Brooklyn couldn't help but recoil as he watched the "mountain" reveal its true form. Stubby legs the size of houses broke free of the rock, one by one, lifting the creature's enormous body several stories into the air. A lengthy, thrashing tail burst forth next, tossing enough dirt into the air to momentarily block out the moonlight.

Finally, the beast's head emerged.

At a glance, it was clearly reptilian – matching several of the features that'd overtaken Honua's face once she became an Avatar. With a pronounced snout and angular face, it looked like some titanic lizard or crocodile…

One about half as long as the Eyrie Building was tall.

Most disturbing, however, was that it still _looked_ like a mountain; composed of earth, rock, and debris, with massive amounts of plant growth still clinging to its body. A waterfall that'd been running down its back was even still, somehow, flowing uninterrupted.

"Witness, child of mine. Witness the end of _all_ who would steal our island away from us," spoke the Avatar, laughing in a _very_ un-Honua-like fashion. "Do you recognize it? The instrument of our salvation?"

Makani's beak hung open, but she said softly, "I think…that's a _Mo'o._ But…they're extinct…"

" _Mo'o?_ " repeated Zee. One claw was upon her obsidian blade, while the other grasped onto her mate's for support.

"The stories say they're ancestors of our people. Massive creatures who walked the land in times long past," explained the tattooed gargoyle, her breath hitched as she gazed upon the rising titan. "But unlike us, they didn't turn to stone each night. Only when they died. Their bodies settled down where they fell, and became mountain ranges."

"It is true that none yet survive," the Avatar cut her off, a rictus grin spreading over Honua's stern features. "But when they lived, they took the form of lizards – my _kinolau._ Even in death, they _know_ their master."

The Orichalcum crystal embedded in Honua's abdomen pulsed a deep purple. At the same time, glowing lines of the same hue appeared all across the towering _Mo'o._

"This corpse will not remain raised for long. But I won't _need_ very much time to bring an end to all who threaten my children," the Avatar continued on. "And I'll start…by cleansing this valley."

"Uh…well then," said Brooklyn, not even trying to maintain his cool demeanor as he stepped back in horror. "Honestly, I think I'd _prefer_ Godzilla at this point."

That was all any of them could think to say, as they watched the colossus begin to climb down the valley slopes.

[-]

"In light of this, noble _Nawao_ …" declared King Kamehameha, his expression unreadable as they too observed the beast's descent. "It seems we will need to put our alliance into play sooner than expected."

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it an 'alliance,' personally," replied Uila, doing his best to keep the utter terror in his gut from showing on his face. "But I suppose I can't argue."

"'Olohana! Signal our location to 'Aikake!" the king began barking out orders. "Warriors, we march to meet him! And…my queen…"

Ka'ahumanu inclined her crowned head. "I know my role. I will remain here, to coordinate with the _Nawao_ forces," she said.

Satisfied, Kamehameha turned back to the yellow-skinned gargoyle who was, for all intents and purposes, the acting leader of his clan.

"I am aware that you do not trust me. And in fairness…there is little our people have done to _earn_ any kind of trust," he told Uila. "But perhaps the throes of battle will be enough to convince you of my sincerity. And to convince your clan to make the _right_ choice."

"When one of the two options is oblivion…that doesn't leave much of a _choice,_ " snapped Kaha, not looking up from the stone upon which she and her mate were sharpening their weapons.

"Perhaps. Still, my hopes are high that we shall not come to that point," spoke the king, now taking his position at the center of his warriors' formation. "Until next we meet, _Nawao._ There will always be a place of honor for you in my court."

Uila shared an uneasy glance with his brother and sister, and knew they were all thinking the same thing: that Kamehameha's words could refer just as easily to a political alliance…

Or a sacrifice to the gods.

But a moment later, the electric yellow gargoyle was shaking his head, as he found his vision inextricably drawn back to the behemoth now lumbering into the valley, roaring with hellish wrath.

Right now, allies and enemies, old prejudices and hatreds…none of them mattered. Because for all they'd done to isolate themselves; to protect and preserve what little remained of their ancestral home…

Now, a danger they scarcely _understood_ was baring down upon them, just a few gigantic strides away from crushing every last male, female, and egg in the valley underfoot.

Distrust was a luxury they could no longer afford.

"Gather close, _Nawao,_ " said the queen, as she watched her husband and his army march in the direction of the ocean. "I believe I have a plan."

[-]

" _Terraemotus!_ "

The spell was impressively cast, complete with booming voice and a wide sweep of Benuthet's ivory wand. It did not, however, appear to _do_ anything to the monster now towering over the valley.

"Err, Benny…" whispered Brooklyn, gripping tightly onto his broadsword as the four of them backed away two steps at a time. "Not for nothing, but…"

"Since the beast appears to be an earthen construct, I hoped my earthquake spell might be effective," the sorcerer explained hurriedly. "But if Makani's story is accurate, then this _Mo'o_ isn't actually made from stone – but from a similar substance as our own skin during stone sleep. Something that's notoriously difficult to manipulate with sorcery."

"So what options does that leave us?" demanded the TimeDancer. "Just thwack it with our swords really hard?"

"If you think your blades or my _khopesh_ can stand against this behemoth…" said Benny, looking uncharacteristically grim. "Then by all means, you are welcome to try."

The quartet's escape became a heavy sprint, just in time to avoid being flattened by one of the creature's enormous claws.

"Bring whatever might you can muster against my servant! _None_ of it will matter!" crowed Honua, taking flight into the air in a way that should've been impossible for a gargoyle with two _healthy_ wings. She settled down upon the _Mo'o,_ standing astride its crest like a triumphant rider.

"I will cleanse this valley. I will cleanse this island. In time, I will cleanse _every_ island across this vast ocean!" she called out, her voice booming down upon them. "Things will be as they once were! My kind will reclaim Polynesia for our own…and my children will _finally_ be safe!"

"This isn't the way, mother!" shouted Makani, her beak trembling. "More violence won't solve anything!"

Honua tilted her head to the side, her own beak curling into a cruel sneer.

"So blind. So naïve. I was a fool to ever think I could mold you to be strong," she said. "It's a shame you won't live to see just how _wrong_ you are. But I can't allow you to survive. I _won't_ allow your idiocy to endanger your brothers and sisters any longer!"

At her unspoken command, the _Mo'o_ raised its leg again, roaring furiously. There was no way they'd be able to run out of its range in time.

"Farewell, my daughter," hissed the Avatar. "If it's any consolation…know that there is honor in being the first to die, for the sake of our clan's future!"

But before she could order her servant to strike the killing blow, she paused, looking out onto the horizon. From her high vantage point, it seemed she'd noticed something the four of them could not.

"Or, perhaps…" she added, her sneer widening to a length that didn't seem natural. "The second."

And with that, the _Mo'o_ abruptly changed course, storming off as quickly as its lumbering movements could take it. The beast seemed to be making a beeline in the direction of the ocean.

"We're…going after that thing, aren't we?" muttered Brooklyn with a heavy, resigned sigh.

"After all our adventures together, my friend…" said Zafira, already loping along on all fours for maximum speed. "I'm surprised you still feel the need to ask."

[-]

John Young took a moment to catch his breath, as the warriors he'd been marching alongside finally arrived upon the beach that bordered Waimanu Valley.

Wiping the sweat from his pale brow, he reflected that this was probably the craziest plan he'd ever been involved with. And _that_ was saying something.

Tamora the Goth was his direct superior in the Illuminati, and the one who'd assigned him to the _Eleanora_ in the first place – both to keep an eye on notorious loose-cannon Simon Metcalfe, and to investigate rumors of surviving gargoyles in the Pacific.

Thanks to the mysterious traveling abilities of the Upper Echelons, she'd managed to join him here in record time, and her aid in striking an accord between the native gargoyles and his new liege had proved invaluable.

But now she was gone – departed to parts unknown to accomplish her own mission, just as quickly as she came. All she'd left him were a few pieces of choice intelligence.

Including what they were about to face…and the one way they just _might_ be able to beat it.

"There, Your Majesty. Isaac has sent his reply signal," he told his king, gesturing to a plume of smoke in the sky. This was a little difficult with his head bowed, but he managed it. "But he's still some distance away. We need to buy as much time as we possibly can."

"May the gods be willing," said Kamehameha. "As it does not appear we've very much time to spare."

He spoke these words with the same cool, collected tone he always used – even as they could all see the massive creature wheel around, and begin striding directly toward them.

" _Kahuna,_ to me!" he commanded of his sorcerers; a force nearly ten times as strong as the ones Keōua had brought to the valley. "The rest of you, hold your positions! We cannot yield these shores!"

In other kingdoms Young had witnessed – including the one into which he'd been born – it was not the role of the monarch to stand here, tall and proud upon the battlefield. But Hawaiian rulers were warriors, through and through, expecting no man to wage the wars they were unwilling to fight themselves.

Perhaps that was why Kamehameha had so thoroughly captured his own sense of loyalty.

"You are all aware of your positions in this plan!" bellowed the king, stating rather than asking. "My _kahuna,_ I know it demands a great deal of you. But you will be able to halt the enemy's advance?"

"Working in concert, I believe so," said the head priest, a high-ranking noble in his own right. "But only for a short time. If it continues to strike from close range…"

Kamehameha raised his spear, cutting the other man off. "If the gods are smiling upon us this night…" he responded, eyes never leaving the advancing _Mo'o._ "Then a short time is all I will need."

John Young wiped his brow clean again, his own eyes shimmering with admiration for his adoptive liege. If _any_ man could pull this off, it was Kamehameha.

But he began loading his personal musket, just to be on the safe side.

[-]

Keōua Kū'ahu'ula crawled along through the valley's underbrush, clutching at his arm and, beneath his ragged breaths, cursing the gods.

It wasn't an activity he'd had much occasion to engage in, across his twenty-eight years of life. He'd always considered himself an incredibly devout man; a humble servant of the _akua,_ as _all_ chiefs should rightly be.

Though the lands and titles had stung, it was his father's willing of the guardianship of Kū to that damned usurper that'd _truly_ ignited Keōua's fury. Kamehameha cared about the old ways only as far as they served his ambitions – his blatant courting of the _hāʻole_ for their trinkets and weapons was proof enough.

That conniving bastard had no business going _near_ any effigies to such an important god…much less be in charge of _guarding_ them.

And yet…and yet…

Keōua had been _so_ certain that his bid was backed by divine providence. His was the pure blood of the noble _Naha_ line – not the fledgling offshoot from which his cousin spawned. If _anyone_ was destined to unite the islands into a single, unstoppable kingdom, it was he.

But across the past eight years, he'd encountered nothing but setback after setback. Three times he had met the usurper on the battlefield, and three times had he suffered humiliating defeat. And immediately following the third…

A low, guttural growl of frustration escaped the chief's lips. The injustice of losing two-thirds of his army to Kīlauea still smarted – with the remainder saved only by the chance arrival of those _Nawao._

Perhaps he should've realized it then. There was only one possible explanation for such an ill-timed eruption: that, somehow or another, his forces had earned Pele's wrath.

But the final straw had come earlier that night. One of the _akua_ had been _inside_ him; there could be no greater honor. Most likely Kū, given the voice's warlike nature…no matter what lies that foreign _Nawao_ tried to tell.

And then, that voice had _rejected_ him. Tossed him aside like so much refuse, preferring to inhabit the _Nawao_ leader instead. A race that scarcely even _acknowledged_ the gods. In what world did _she_ deserve such glory?

Maybe – he recoiled with horror at even _thinking_ this – maybe, the gods didn't smile on his campaign after all. Maybe they'd thrown their lot in with the man who was liable to stab them in the back the second they stopped being useful to him. And with the wretched creatures whose stubbornness enabled him.

Well…if that was the case…

Then perhaps they didn't deserve _his_ faith any longer.

The very thought made his eyes burn with hot, stinging tears.

"Brother?" spoke a soft voice, breaking through the chief's reverie. Keōua hastily looked up, and despite everything, felt a small smile play upon his lips.

"Pauli Ka'ōleiokū. Flesh of my flesh, and blood of my blood," he said. "The last man I have left to turn to."

The young prince offered him a hand up, and Keōua accepted it gratefully. With a great effort from both of them, he managed to stand again.

"We've lost just about our entire army to this valley. Rebuilding a force capable of taking on the usurper could take _years,_ " he continued on, his voice sounding strangely hollow and distant to his own ears. "This is the end, brother."

"There's still a chance," protested Pauli. "We could flee to one of the islands he doesn't yet control, regroup our forces. O'ahu, perhaps. Surely Kahekili wouldn't deny us…he _hates_ my father. Together, we could…"

But Keōua just shook his head.

"My world is broken. My cause is shattered," he told his last remaining ally. "Thank you, brother…for believing in me. I only wish I could've believed in _myself_ a little longer."

He fell against Pauli, his legs suddenly going limp.

"I suppose that means this is _his_ world now. His world…to corrupt, and ruin, and destroy, as he sees fit," he said, as his half-brother fought to keep him standing. "Oh…how I hope he _rots_ in it."

"Listen to yourself," Pauli murmured harshly. "If you give up now, then what've we been fighting for all this time? Did our sacrifices mean _nothing_ in the end?"

Keōua's body convulsed with a spasm of wheezing, ugly laughter – the kind that held no humor in it at all.

"It's impossible to understand unless you've felt it, brother," he replied. "What it's like to be touched by a god. And…what it's like to be _discarded_ by one. To have an all-knowing being reach into your mind, see everything that you are or will ever be…and decide you simply aren't worth his time."

Pauli was silent for several moments. Then, he asked, "What do we do now?"

"Right now…" whispered the chief, giving it some real thought for the first time in quite a while. "Right now, I think I just want to go home. And sleep for a very long time."

The younger man spent another few seconds observing Keōua without speaking. The gears behind his young face turning rapidly.

Eventually, he said, "Very well. I suppose it's just as well we get out of this valley as soon as possible."

Keōua frowned. "What do you mean by that, brother?" he demanded, sensing he was missing something.

"Have…Have you not noticed what's above us?" responded Pauli, matching the chief's expression. His cool brown eyes were now more clearly alight with something like fear.

The corner of Keōua's mouth twitched slightly. "Before you chanced upon me, I wasn't even able to _stand,_ " he pointed out. "Is it something I should know about?"

Pauli paused again, seeming to think this over. Then, in lieu of answering, he hoisted Keōua's weakened body against his shoulder, and began to walk toward one of the valley walls, far away from the beach.

"Perhaps it's best we leave some things unspoken," he said, guessing shrewdly – and accurately – that whatever was lumbering about the valley would gobble the two of them up the moment they entered its sights.

"Now, as you put it…let's go home."

[-]

The _Mo'o_ was now running at full speed.

Since it had roughly the weight and heft of half a dozen freight trains, this presented something of a problem to the humans and gargoyles attempting to pursue it – of which there were quite a few more than Honua might've expected.

But for the humans who stood directly in its path, that just meant they needed to work quickly.

"Prepare yourselves!" ordered Kamehameha, his voice booming across the beach.

At their king's signal, his warriors formed rank behind the line of _kahuna,_ each holding their weapon of choice at the ready. The sorcerer-priests themselves, meanwhile, began to chant in unison.

Keōua's individual _kahuna_ had each been skilled, in deflecting blows or manipulating the elements, but as a unit they weren't the trained and disciplined force that served the King of Hawai'i. These magicians matched each other in perfect harmony, gathering power and continuously stoking it, like a growing flame.

The energy in the air vibrated and hummed so much that it seemed to take physical form – a blanket of shimmering light that stretched across the entrance to the valley.

It was only seconds after reaching full strength that the _Mo'o_ slammed into it with full force.

Under the lizard's crushing weight, the barrier very nearly gave way, but the _kahuna_ responded only by chanting louder, strengthening their enormous shield. The creature roared and screeched, trying to force its way through, but without the momentum of its first strike the barrier managed to hold.

"How quaint. The humans think they can stop me with an invisible net," said a figure who stood astride the beast's head. "I'm not unfamiliar with your magicks, pitiful wretches! In time, your bodies will run out of energy to sustain your spell!"

Unfortunately, the voice was exactly right. Already, Kamehameha could see the legs of several younger _kahuna_ shaking, their bodies matted with sweat as they struggled to maintain the barrier.

"They don't need to hold you long!" he called out to the figure. "Only as long as it takes for me to persuade you of your error."

The figure tensed up, as if unsure they'd just heard what they thought they did. Then, they began approaching along their mount's head, until they were at the tip of its snout.

Shimmering air was all that separated them now. Kamehameha's entire army could see their enemy plainly.

"If I was in a more patient mood, human…" hissed what was clearly a female _Nawao._ "I might be amused to watch you _try._ "

"This is the leader of the clan we… _unsuccessfully_ …attempted parlay with, my king. Called 'Honua,' I believe," whispered John Young, a frown upon his sallow face. "Although, unless my memory is very much mistaken, her appearance has… _changed,_ somewhat."

"She bears similar marks to a victim of a _ho'okomokomo,_ " said the highest-ranking priest. "One with the power to send forth spirits to possess others. My father was such."

"I am a victim of _no one!_ " shouted Honua, interrupting them. "I took in this power of my own free will! Because I knew it was the only way to punish those who threaten all I hold dear!"

"Ah. Then _she_ is the _kahuna,_ " the priest amended, stepping back and allowing his fellows to close rank, still maintaining the barrier. "And her specialty is the same as mine. She is _po'i 'uhane_ – one who captures spirits, and forces them to do their bidding."

And with that, the lead _kahuna_ began his own chant, entirely separate from the one the others were perpetuating. At the same time, he pulled out a jar made of _koa_ wood, and opened the lid.

Instantly, an ethereal woman burst forth, more mist than being. She screeched and shot forth, passing right through the barrier and latching onto Honua.

What greater plans the _kahuna_ might've had for this gambit, however, Kamehameha would never get a chance to learn. After just a moment's distraction, the _Nawao_ rallied herself, and cut the spirit to ribbons with a single slash of her claw.

The priest doubled over in pain, his aged body grievously weakened by the sudden destruction of a creature bound to it. The _Nawao,_ meanwhile, just laughed.

"Really now? You _dare_ compare such a pathetic _kupua_ to a being such as I?" she sneered mockingly. There was a strange reverberation to her voice that only became more pronounced with those last few words. "Servant…punish their folly."

At its mistress' command, the _Mo'o_ redoubled its efforts to break through, snapping and thrashing without inhibition. The impact on the line of _kahuna_ was immediate and noticeable, as a number of them fell to their knees out of strain, and a couple outright collapsed.

Still, the barrier held, if just. To say Honua didn't look pleased by this was a gross understatement.

"All of you must pay! All of you must _suffer!_ " she wailed. "If you believe any of you can challenge my pain…then go ahead and try! And _fail!_ And die screaming, the way _he_ did! This is the end of your monstrous race. _This_ …is the final story you'll tell!"

Kamehameha set his jaw firmly. There it was. The opening he'd been waiting for.

This would be a gamble. He only had the reports of his advisor and his queen, and his own speculation, to work with. But he was fairly certain he was right.

"Kekūhaupiʻo!" he said, speaking to one of his lower chiefs – his teacher in the ways of war, who had chosen to join him on this battlefield. "Bring forward the cloak."

The aged man seemed confused by the order, but obeyed all the same. He signaled to an attendant, who handed over a cloak of brilliant red feathers – captured from the body of Kamehameha's cousin Kīwalaʻō, eight long years prior.

"Your clan has been wronged by my family. You, _personally,_ have been wronged," declared the king. "A great leader of your noble race was slain, out of petty and selfish aims. And more to the point, in death he was treated with no honor; _mutilated,_ for the sake of a paltry trophy."

"That… _That is_ … _!_ " screeched Honua, as it slowly dawned on her just what the chief was holding. But her fury didn't faze Kamehameha.

"The man who ordered this crime, the man who inflicted the killing blow…and the man who orchestrated it all from behind the scenes. Though all share my blood, _all_ are my enemies. You are aware of this," he continued unabated, as if a mad gargoyle with supernatural powers wasn't currently screaming in his face. "Nevertheless, I am willing to be the one to offer recompense."

He took the cloak, and held it aloft, above his head. Symbolically, there was a great deal baked into the gesture.

"There is no glory in this raiment. I return it to you, _Nawao,_ to do as you see fit," he said. "As I understand your Ceremony of Winds, with a part of his body unavailable to burn, the rite will have been… _tainted._ This is a chance to correct that injustice."

"You…You think you can…" breathed Honua, her chest heaving erratically.

But again, Kamehameha would not be deterred. "I cannot erase the crimes of those who've wronged you," he told her firmly. "But I _can_ make up for them. Call off your beast, and ally with my armies. Together, we can hunt down Keōua Kū'ahu'ula – and all others who were involved in the death of your clansmate. If you desire vengeance, that I will grant you. If you desire protection for your children, that too I can grant. This night need not end in bloodshed."

Honua's eyes were wide, bloodshot; darting rapidly between the king, the crimson cloak in his hands, and the rest of the forces arrayed behind him.

Then, suddenly, those eyes burned bright. But rather than the typical red of a female gargoyle, they were a dark, unearthly purple – the same as the glow that crisscrossed along the lines of her titanic mount.

"Do you think you can assuage my wrath with a few empty promises?" she demanded, growling sharply. "I know well that you had nothing to do with the _slaughter_ of my mate. But I _still_ hold you responsible!"

She pointed an accusing claw forward, the _kākau_ etched upon it – symbols representing stone and earth – glowing with the same hue and intensity.

"If it weren't for your petty squabbling over thrones and titles, he would still be alive tonight!" she exclaimed. "You may not've held the blade yourself, but it was _your_ ambition that killed him! For that, there can be _no_ restitution! No compromise! I will have blood for blood!"

Kamehameha's frown deepened. "And how much blood will it take before you are satisfied?" he said.

The sheer venom that spread over the gargoyle's face in the next moment could've stopped hearts.

"I've already told you," she replied simply. "Enough so that every last grain of sand on this island is soaked with your blood. I'll leave _none_ alive."

The king was silent for several moments. Then, calmly, he lowered the red cloak to the ground, laying it at his own feet.

"A pity. It seems I truly am dealing with a madwoman," he stated, without emotion. "Remember, _Nawao,_ in what little time remains for you…that it could have been different. You could have been _ali'i nui,_ and your descendants, honored members of my court forevermore. Instead, you force my hand."

"I force _your_ hand?" Honua repeated mockingly. " _You_ are the one who are about to die! Your last stand is moments away from crumbling!"

"Except that this is not a last stand," said Kamehameha, his eyes no longer meeting hers, but staring off beyond her shoulder. "It is a distraction."

Without any further warning, the _Mo'o_ let loose an earsplitting wail, as if in pain. Honua was forced to dig her talons into its stone-like skin to avoid falling off, as it suddenly began to reel.

Snarling in anger and confusion, her head whipped around, searching for the source of the attack.

Only to find nearly every other _Nawao_ on the island gripping onto her mount, assailing the glowing grooves in its body with clubs and blades.

[-]

"What's going on up there?" asked Brooklyn, as the four of them sprinted along the forest floor, as fast as their claws could carry them.

"It is hard to tell through the tree cover, my friend," said Benuthet, narrowing his eyes and trying to catch a glimpse by way of brief flashes of moonlight. "But I believe someone has finally cajoled the Hawaiian Clan into action."

He then lowered his head, wincing involuntarily. Out of the four of them, the scholar was easily the most seriously injured, and they'd been forced to stop a couple of times so he could regain his bearings.

Dawn couldn't come fast enough…once the present crisis was resolved, at least.

"Why would they be going up against their own leader's pet monster, though?" Brooklyn responded, after thinking on this for a few moments. "I mean, sure, her plan is located in straight-up crazytown. But she's at least _claiming_ it's for their sake."

Zafira, who was leading their formation by way of being the fastest runner, was the first to offer a reply.

"Is it possible…" she called back to the others. "That they aren't _aware_ of who commands the beast? She only announced her plans to us four."

"To the clan, it would simply appear as if an enemy was invading the valley," Makani confirmed, her brow ridges furrowed. "And this is _exactly_ how Honua has trained us to respond to enemies."

"How much you wanna bet Miss Big Bad Avatar'll accept _that_ explanation?" muttered Brooklyn.

None of them had a good answer.

[-]

Uila hung onto the creature's "flesh" for dear life, stabbing it with his shark-tooth knife whenever he got an opportunity, and generally cursing himself and everyone around him for having gone along with this ridiculous plan.

They'd taken advantage of a large gap in the mountain range, left behind when the _Mo'o_ – for that's what the clan's storyteller had called it – rose back to life. It gave them a far less sheer surface on which to climb, allowing nearly the entire clan to make it to the top of the valley in record time.

The human queen had come with them, holding onto the back of Hau'oli, the strongest climber on the island. Now she was directing them to glide back down in groups of two or three, targeting specific weak points along the lizard's back.

Unlike her husband, she was clearly no warrior, but Uila had to admit she was an excellent tactician.

That fact was evident in that, though the _Mo'o_ dwarfed them by factors incalculable, they were clearly managing to damage it. Each strike was barely a pinprick to a monster of this size, but by working in concert, the natural gaps in its rocky skin were slowly widening.

"Keep going!" he attempted to shout, though his throat was weak enough from overexertion and general nerves that little sound came out. "Just a little more, and we can be…!"

" _Traitors!_ " bellowed a voice that seemed to come from the very depths of the underworld itself.

Uila didn't even have time to turn his head before a strike blindsided him, sending him sprawling along the creature's black. He heard a nasty crack as his leg splintered beneath him, and yelped in pain.

"How dare you? How _dare_ you?!" said his assailant, standing ready to attack once again with the slightest provocation. "Working with these monsters, turning against your own _mother?!_ This was all to _protect_ you!"

"H…Honua…?" murmured Hau'oli, looking upon what'd become of one of his mothers with a face of barely concealed horror. "What…What _happened_ to…?"

"Nothing about me has changed, child. Only that I've accepted power…the power needed to wipe away _all_ our clan's enemies," Honua answered, before he could finish the question. Her eyes, disturbingly slit-like, narrowed even further. "Who, it appears…may be far more numerous than I anticipated."

"We had no idea you were behind this… _creature,_ " protested Kaha, coming to her mate's side. "After what that scarlet _hāʻole_ said, we feared the worst. We thought we'd lost you forever."

"Let's see if I understand, then," spat Honua. "The moment you think I'm gone, you turn around and roll over for the ones who've nearly driven us to _extinction?_ I knew it. I _knew_ I was the only thing keeping this clan from committing suicide!"

"Why…Why are you doing this…?" Uila choked out, trying to stand but only provoking a sharp groan of pain. Kaha moved to help him, but he waved her off. "Bl…Blame me, if you wish. I was the one…who accepted the human king's offer. But…what you're doing here…"

"What I'm _doing_ is saving my children. By any means necessary," said Honua, cutting him off. "You'll see. I'll kill Kamehameha. I'll kill Keōua. I'll use my servant, and wipe out every last human polluting this island – man, woman, _or_ child. Native and _hāʻole_ alike. Then I'll move onto the next island. And the next. And the _next._ "

She held a shaking fist aloft, her words directed to the heavens, "I'll make this entire ocean a paradise for our kind once again. Hawaiki…reborn."

A look passed between the three gargoyles close enough to hear these words. Eventually, as carefully as she could, Kaha stated, "Mother…you know I don't like the humans any more than you do. But…what you propose simply isn't _possible._ Even if your beast _could_ wipe away humans from Hawai'i, more would come. The _hāʻole_ won't stop just because you kill a few."

"And even so, your plan…it's simply too cruel," added Hau'oli, his voice soft. "If we commit genocide against the humans, then we're no better than they are. We have to find another way. Come, mother. Let's…"

But as he spoke those words, the pink-skinned male placed a comforting claw upon Honua's arm. And she reacted instinctively.

It was the same impulse that'd caused her to strike Makani, so many times now that it was almost reflexive. But she'd failed to account for her increased strength.

The blow opened a sizable wound in Hau'oli's temple, splattering his mother with droplets of blood. Then, barely conscious, he staggered back.

And fell.

" _My love!_ " screamed Kaha, diving off the side of the _Mo'o_ in a mad dash to reach her mate. But there simply wasn't enough time to catch up to gravity.

Hau'oli impacted the valley floor with a sickening crunch, blood pooling beneath his mangled body. For a couple of seconds, his extremities twitched, and then he was still.

Kaha landed a moment later, cradling her mate in her dark-blue arms and sobbing uncontrollably. But when she looked back up, and met her mother's gaze, her expression was one of pure, unyielding _hatred._

"Wh…Wh…" stammered Honua, her eyes as wide as they possibly could be in their transformed state. "What…What have I…?"

But then, the violet glow returned. In her eyes, upon her _kākau_ …and, simultaneously, all along the lines of the _Mo'o._

"…What have _they_ done?!" she corrected herself, face filling with virulent hatred. "They forced me into this! _You_ forced me into this!"

"B…Brother…" said Uila, his eyes filling with tears. "How…How could you…?"

"I wasn't the one who turned against _you,_ child!" cried Honua, as the enormous lizard rumbled and shook beneath their feet. "It was the other way around! Now I understand what I was too blind to see before!"

Despite their unsteady footing, she continued to advance on the yellow-skinned gargoyle, one step at a time.

"I thought it was only Makani who was weak. That I had to excise her before her foolishness infected you all," she went on, her eyes now burning perpetually. "But now I realize…it's too late. You've _all_ been corrupted. Even _them._ "

Then, suddenly, she locked eyes with Queen Ka'ahumanu – standing atop a nearby cliffside, from which she'd deployed most of the clan in an attempt to stop the _Mo'o._ The rotund woman was surrounded by the only _Nawao_ even _she_ wasn't cold enough to send into battle: the clutch of hatchlings born in 1778, each biologically only six years of age.

"If I can't trust my own children, then who _can_ I trust?" she asked herself, not waiting for a response before continuing to rave. "The only solution left…is to wipe the slate clean. To start over. With a generation that _won't_ betray me."

"Mother…" gasped Uila, trying and failing again to get back up. His injured leg simply refused to do anything but buckle, sending waves of pure agony through his body. "Y…You can't really mean…"

"The eggs will survive. I've instructed my servant to spare them," said Honua. "And once this island is wiped clean of humans and _Nawao_ alike…they'll have the perfect sanctuary to grow up, safe and free. They'll never even _know_ danger. It's the simplest solution, in the end…and the kindest."

"You…You _aren't_ Honua…" murmured Uila, finally giving in and collapsing upon the back of the _Mo'o._ His beak was barely moving, and his words were slurred. "Our real mother…would never even _suggest_ …"

"Oh, but I _am_ Honua," she interjected, cutting him off. "I'm the deepest part of her…the part unencumbered by weakness or lingering doubts. The part of her meant for something _greater_ than simply curling up in a remote valley, and waiting for her kind to die!"

She spread her arms and wings, as the glow around them reached a fever pitch.

"I am Honua!" she crowed at the top of her lungs. "Avatar of this island's salvation!"

From some distance away, a great cry rang out, as a dozen humans suddenly collapsed at once, wallowing in pain. A smirk appeared upon the orange gargoyle's beak.

"And it seems the last obstacle in my way has finally broken," said Honua, leaving her son behind to race back to her beast's snout.

[-]

Meanwhile, on the beach, Kamehameha's warriors were waging the fight of their lives simply to remain standing.

No longer impeded by the sorcerers' barrier, the _Mo'o_ was free to snap and lash at the army arrayed against it, slaughtering dozens with a single blow. Most of their weapons – spears, clubs, sling-stones – bounced harmlessly off its rock-like body. Even the regiment Young and Davis had trained in the use of muskets seemed to do little but annoy the beast.

And of course, every last _kahuna_ in the king's service was now either collapsed from exhaustion…or dead.

The only thing keeping them alive was that the creature's mistress was still somewhere along the small of its back. Its power was wild and unpredictable, but without her around to issue orders it was largely directionless, thrashing about like a feral animal.

"We need to buy more time, Your Majesty!" exclaimed John Young, holding onto his one shot as he, Kamehameha, and Kekūhaupiʻo dodged away from the lizard's snapping jaws. He doubted he'd have a chance to clean and reload on a battlefield like this, so he needed to make his one musket ball count. "If the gargoyles haven't sufficiently weakened its shell by the time Isaac arrives…"

"Unfortunately, 'Olohana…" said Kamehameha, as he jammed a spear into one of the monster's "toes" to try and slow it down. "I doubt _this_ enemy can be distracted by arguments or bargains."

"The _Nawao_ were able to inflict damage by digging their weapons into the glowing grooves," Kekūhaupiʻo noted, huffing and puffing in his attempt to keep up with the younger men. While he'd been a mighty warrior in his youth, _that_ had been a long time ago. "Could we not do the same?"

"Believe me, _kumu,_ I am…" Kamehameha paused to dodge a swipe of the lizard's long, flapping tongue. "… _Very_ much in agreement with that plan. But how do you propose we get close enough to _implement_ it?"

"We need another distraction. Too many of our allies, human and gargoyle alike, have been taken out of commission," the boatswain replied with a frown. "My king, I know we are worshippers of different gods…but please permit me to beseech mine for a miracle."

One of the warriors ahead of them screamed, as the _Mo'o_ suddenly slammed its chin into the ground, crushing him. Its jaws were now mere feet in front of them, blocking their path, and twisted into something like a cruel leer – matching its mistress, who'd returned from battling her clan to stand astride its snout once more.

"With all my deepest respect, Almighty…" Young was forced to add, grimacing. "Now would be an excellent time for it."

That was the moment when two snarling gargoyle beasts burst from the forest, crossed the beach in a matter of seconds, and tackled Honua from her perch.

Kamehameha's eyes widened at the unexpected development, but he wasted little time in taking advantage of it. He tossed his final weapon – a feather-tipped ceremonial spear, unfit for real battle – and hit his mark perfectly, the lizard roaring in fury as it impacted straight in its "eye."

"Warriors! Mount the beast, while it's distracted!" said the king. "Do as much damage as you can to the glowing areas! Any who fall today will be honored by the gods!"

And then, never one to lead by words over example, he picked up a bladed club from one of his fallen comrades, sprinted toward the _Mo'o,_ and – with a wailing battle cry – leapt onto its head, making a beeline for the nearest weak point.

About two dozen of his remaining warriors followed their majesty's lead, seeking out the pulsing violet gaps in the lizard's stony "skin" and impaling them with whatever weapons they could find, trying to force the grooves wider.

The _Mo'o_ immediately began to thrash and buckle, attempting to throw its attackers off, as if they were a swarm of irritating gnats. Since the human warriors, unlike the gargoyles, lacked claws with which to brace themselves, a number were tossed into the air – and those that hit the dark gray sands didn't get back up.

But several more, Kamehameha included, managed to hold on, working to inflict as much damage on its front half as the Hawaiian Clan were still wreaking upon its back.

Honua, meanwhile, was engaged in brutal combat with the two beasts, who – despite their wild snarls and howls – demonstrated fierce intelligence in the way they coordinated, circling around the orange gargoyle and attacking from her blind spots.

Young was perhaps the only man on this beach familiar with the species, any local beasts having died off so long ago as to be beyond memory. Still, in spite of their unfamiliarity, several of Kamehameha's men moved to back up their strange allies, pelting Honua with stones and spears to keep her off-balance.

"Fools! Wretches! _Monsters!_ " she screamed, wheeling around with each fresh volley. They seemed to do little damage, but the constant assault kept her from counterattacking. " _None_ of you deserve to exist!"

"Perhaps not," said John Young, lining up his shot, but not yet squeezing the trigger. "But neither does your pet."

As if on cue, from out upon the water, a second smoke signal rose up.

"Isaac is nearly in position!" he shouted out, turning to the humans still assailing the frantic _Mo'o._ "My king, it is time!"

As this plan had been Kamehameha's in the first place – pulled together in a matter of minutes, the moment they'd first spotted the beast's descent – he didn't need telling twice. The king made a signal to his warriors, and then another to his distant queen.

Ka'ahumanu wasted no time fulfilling her own role, as the valley was soon overtaken by the sound of every hatchling in the Hawaiian Clan wailing at once. This was the signal for all of their parents to detach from the _Mo'o_ and glide to safety, while Kamehameha's warriors simultaneously did the same (albeit, minus the gliding).

"What are you _doing?!_ " demanded Honua, as she managed to reach one of the warriors surrounding her and strike him down with a single claw-slash – only to be forcibly pulled back by the beasts before she could attack another. "Why are you…?"

But even she was forced to fall silent, as she saw what'd just emerged from behind a steep outcropping.

It was a large wooden schooner, bedecked with billowing white sails. The companion ship to Young's _Eleanora,_ once captained by the young Thomas Metcalfe, which'd brought Isaac Davis to Hawai'i in the first place.

The _Fair American._ The first Western vessel to be pressed into Kamehameha's service, and crewed by about three dozen of his men.

All of whom Young and Davis had trained judiciously in the operation of its cannons.

"Out of the way, all of you!" ordered Kamehameha, and those men still in between the creature and the water hastened to obey.

Then, on Isaac Davis' command, the volley began.

Fire and fury split the skies, as round after round impacted the shrieking _Mo'o._ Its carapace of stone, already weakened by human and gargoyle hands alike, shattered in a number of places, the lizard's legs giving way under the sheer, unrelenting force.

It was, at once, a sight both beautiful…and unspeakably horrific.

Though the Hawaiian people had never known advanced metalwork, one of Kamehameha's first orders for his new advisors had been to teach them, so they could stockpile as many rounds for his terrifying new weapons as possible. That advantage had been the deciding factor in numerous battles to date.

The result was that the _Fair American_ was vastly better-equipped than most ships in its class. And Davis clearly wasn't going to let up until he'd used up _all_ of that equipment.

For longer than he cared to count, the volley rang out uninterrupted, Young curled up upon the sand and covering his ears. It wasn't very dignified, but it was also the only way to ride out the symphony of destruction and remain sane.

Then, finally, after what seemed like an eternity of unending hell, the cannon rounds ran out, and the booming sounds of iron impacting rock fell away to nothing.

And when the smoke cleared away from the beach…

The _Mo'o_ laid there, still. Its violet glow gone completely.

An empty shell of earth and stone once more.

[-]

"Y'know, I'm getting really, _really_ tired…" said Brooklyn, as they continued to bound along the forest floor. "Of not having a clue what's going on! Jeez, I know I complain a lot about us being at the center of _every little thing,_ but still!"

"That sounded like those 'gun' weapons used by the conquistadors, or those 'German' soldiers," Zafira observed, one claw unconsciously twitching toward her abdomen. "Except on a _vastly_ larger scale."

"Cannons, I'd wager. Based on the time period," responded the TimeDancer. "But who was firing them…and _why?_ "

"Let's stop here for a moment. I'll try and get a better vantage point," Makani told the others, halting in her all-fours sprint to leap upon a tree that didn't seem like it should've supported her weight, and shimmy up to the top.

There was a brief period of silence, as the time travelers took the opportunity to catch their breath. Brooklyn found himself wishing they'd thought to stock a few more of those improvised water-coconuts – though he wasn't sure whether they would've survived teleportation-by-way-of volcano goddess.

Then, a few seconds later, Makani fell back down to join the trio, her eyes wide.

"The _Mo'o,_ " she whispered breathlessly, as if she scarcely believed her own words. "It's stopped moving. I think…they managed to defeat it."

"Huh. So I guess they…won without us," said Brooklyn, half-shrugging his shoulders. It was a very bewildering feeling. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but…how often does _that_ happen?"

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, my friend," declared Benuthet, who was already readying himself to return to full speed. His mate mimicked him, both their faces grave.

"What do you mean, Benny?" the Scottish gargoyle asked.

To that, the sorcerer posed another question – one that sent a chill up Brooklyn's spine.

"How do you believe the Avatar will react…" he murmured quietly. "Now that all her plans have failed?"

[-]

The sense of victory lasted only a few, precious moments.

Then the skies were filled with a screech of violent and haunting terror, and a wave of that same purple energy pulsated across the beach, knocking the humans and gargoyle beasts alike off their feet.

"You think…you've _won?!_ " bellowed Honua, storming out of the plumes of smoke, sand, and ash that'd been left behind by the cannon fire. Her eyes were now permanently locked into that unearthly, violet glow. "This is just the _beginning!_ I _will_ have my revenge! I _will_ cleanse these islands of your filth!"

The waves now came every few seconds, radiating out from her burning _kākau_ with the same rhythm as the waters crashing upon the nearby shores. Several warriors screamed in pain as they found their weapons melting away in their hands, scorching their skin.

"In a way, perhaps I should _thank_ you all. It's only made it clearer that I have to do this _myself,_ " she continued on. "None of your pathetic weapons can stand in my way. And you've used up your best already, to accomplish… _what?_ You beat up a mountain."

Growling, the gargoyle beasts tried to leap at her from opposite directions, as she continued her slow advance. But the next wave caught them both at once, sending them back to the sands with whimpers of pain.

"My treacherous children will pay, in time. But I think I'll start with the ones who poisoned their minds and spirits to begin with," said Honua, as she came to a stop before her first target.

Then, with the pulsating waves preventing anyone else from getting near, she bent down, and seized King Kamehameha by the throat. Despite his impressive physique, he was far too worn down by the battle to fight back, a low groan the only thing to escape his thick lips.

"And you should know, human, as well as I do…" she spoke softly, pure hatred the only emotion upon her face. "That the first one to pay for a clan's sins… _must_ be their leader."

John Young groaned and grimaced as well, wracking his brain for some way to save his king. The one sovereign he'd ever _chosen_ to serve.

Then he looked down, and let out a soft gasp. While the warriors' weapons of bone, reed, and stone had all fallen apart to the gargoyle's strange power…

His musket remained solid and whole.

The boatswain's mind whirred with possibilities in that moment, until a number of clues fell into place, and he realized _precisely_ what he was dealing with.

He quickly turned his head to each side, and was heartened to see two other men whom he'd personally armed, their guns similarly intact. Silently, drawing as little attention to themselves as possible, he signaled them to follow him, crawling along the sands to avoid the radiating waves overhead.

Once they were in Honua's blind spot, with their bellies still to the ground, he whispered the two natives through the complicated loading procedure.

"Prime and load," he said, quietly as he could. He knew he couldn't rely on his enemy to bask for long, before she decided to finish the job. "Handle cartridge. Prime. About. Draw ramrods. Ram down cartridge. Return rammers."

He couldn't afford to look back as he prepped his own firearm, so he just had to hope that the incessant, British Army-style drills Kamehameha had insisted upon for his elite warriors were paying off.

"Make ready," he went on, holding his musket straight up and pulling the lock to its fullest extent. Then, bracing it against his right shoulder, he brought the muzzle parallel to the ground, and took aim. "Present…"

" _Mother!_ " came a shrill exclamation, a good distance away. In the near-silence that'd fallen over the beach after the cannon volley, it pierced the air like a clanging bell.

In that moment, Young had a split-second decision to make. If he hesitated for even a single breath, there was the possibility that Honua might turn around and notice them; that she might even pull Kamehameha into the path of their sights.

Right now, with her back to them, they had an opportunity they might never gain again.

" _Fire!_ " he roared, and all three men squeezed their triggers at once.

[-]

Makani, too, had had a split-second decision to make.

As the quartet finally emerged onto the Waimanu Valley beach, she had only a single moment to take everything in. The carnage strewn about the sands, streaks of red contrasting starkly from the near-black grains. The literal _piles_ of bodies, the dead mixed with the grievously wounded across the shore.

All along with one final corpse: a lizard greater in length and breadth than the largest of sea-beasts. Now returned to the lifeless mountain it'd once been.

And at the center of it all…

Honua. Her eyes and _kākau_ blazing with near-blinding intensity, as she prepared to bring an end to a muscular human male.

" _Mother!_ " she'd cried, unable to think of anything else. But even if there _was_ anything she could've done…she'd arrived too late.

For in that moment, a sharp series of bangs split the night. And blood spurted from the back of the orange _Nawao._

When she fell, it was as if it was in slow motion. She teetered for several moments before it happened, a strange expression on her face. Then, her grip slackened, and the human she'd been holding managed to slip out and crawl away.

Slowly, finally, she collapsed forward.

Without consciously realizing what she was doing, Makani broke away from her companions and sprinted across the sands, desperate to make it in time. She caught Honua's body just before her beak touched the ground.

"Mother…" she choked out; despite everything, despite _everything,_ she was crying. "Mother, _please_ …"

Honua, for her part, continued to wear that strange, blank, unreadable expression. But then her eyes – no longer glowing – met Makani's, and _something_ stirred within them.

"M…M… _M_ …" she struggled to say, blood seeping out of her beak as she tried to form words.

Then, with a final, rattling sigh, the word slipped out, barely audible.

" _Makani_ …"

Honua of the Hawaiian Clan fell to the sands of her beloved island, and breathed her last.

[-]

There was a great deal to catch up upon, as for the first time Brooklyn was properly introduced to King Kamehameha the Great – and what remained of his forces.

Zafira, who'd apparently run into his army prior to the battle, reluctantly provided introductions, but it clearly wasn't a role she felt comfortable with. Particularly in the way her eyes kept darting to the side throughout the exchange – to the place where Makani knelt upon the sands, unable to tear herself away from her rookery mother's corpse.

"For whatever it may be worth…" she heard John Young say, who'd broken off from advising his king to address the muscular gargoyle. "I'm sorry it had to be this way. Any conflict that ends with so much bloodshed is a waste and a sin. If I've earned your hatred, I gladly accept that penance."

"Stop," Makani cut across him, not meeting the pale man's gaze. "You don't have to explain your actions. After everything she did…this was the only way it could end. I just regret that all the lives she took in the meantime couldn't be saved."

She cradled her crystallized claw, which glinted in the moonlight. Zee felt a pang of respect for Young for not asking about it.

"At the same time…" added the tattooed gargoyle, before he could respond. "I think it's best you not be near me right now. Just leave me alone. Please."

"I can understand that, milady," murmured Young. He offered her a deep bow. "You have my best wishes. Now, if you'll excuse me."

He returned swiftly to the side of his sovereign, who was deep in discussion with Benuthet. Both he and Brooklyn were clutching closely at their beasts, who appeared beaten but unharmed.

"Ah, 'Olohana. It seems this _Nawao_ is a _kahuna_ as well, of great skill," said Kamehameha. "We were just discussing the nature of your victory. I was curious why your _pū_ was so effective in felling the enemy, when no other weapon could."

"Your bullets are made of iron, aren't they?" Brooklyn guessed shrewdly.

"A lucky accident. I didn't come to this land intending to face the Fair Folk…but when her power failed to affect my musket, I knew there was nothing else she could be," Young replied. "I only wish I'd realized sooner."

"She was an Avatar, to be precise. One of the…Fair Folk…or as you would call them here, _akua_ …bound to a mortal host," explained Benny, wincing again. He still hadn't had a chance to fully recover, and after their lengthy sprint here it was really catching up to him. "But as you are clearly aware, cold iron is the bane of all their kind. Introducing it into the Avatar's body disrupts the connection – and tends to leave both parties rather worse for wear."

"Worse for wear," Zee repeated, standing next to her mate and frowning. "But not necessarily defeated. What does this mean, my love? What happened to Whiro?"

"Whiro…" muttered one of the king's _kahuna_ – the one who'd tried to attack Honua with captured spirits. Wizened and weakened by the encounter, he had to be propped up by one of his apprentices. "The name is… _familiar._ But I cannot place it."

"The way we keep hearing it, he isn't really part of the local pantheon. But over on some other island, he's basically Big Bad Number One," said Brooklyn. "I think lava lady called it… _Ow-tayuh-row-uh?_ Something like that."

Kamehameha crossed his broad arms. " _Aotearoa,_ " he corrected the TimeDancer, his mouth a thin line. "It is not close."

"My people have taken to calling it by the name 'New Zealand.' A collection of islands located in the southwest Pacific," offered Young. "Do you mean to say our attacker was born of that land?"

"Yes…and no. It is… _difficult_ to explain in a short space of time. Even we learned of the threat only recently," Benuthet answered thoughtfully. "Regardless, I do not think we should linger. Severing the connection to his host will have delayed Whiro, but there's no telling for long."

 _Oh, not very long at all._

Every head on the beach – human, gargoyle, and beast alike – turned up to the sky, searching for the source of the deep, sinister tones. But the voice didn't seem to be coming from any particular direction.

It was simply _in_ the air. Like smoke. Like the ash still lingering from the _Fair American_ 's cannons.

 _Sorcerers. Warriors. TimeDancer. I must congratulate you all on a victory well-fought. And if there was the slightest_ meaning _in that victory, I'd congratulate you even further._

 _Of course, the moment its Dance fell, my business with this island was concluded. Everything since…you could call it humoring my lovely host. For bringing me one step closer to freedom, she deserved at least a_ chance _at vengeance._

 _One down. Two to go._

"The…stone circles. Honua said there were three," whispered Benny, realizing aloud. "Three that compose the seals on his prison."

 _You think it will be difficult to find a few more puppets in your world? In one night, two on this island alone offered themselves to me_ willingly.

 _And when the Dances have fallen, the empires of mortals will crumble. This corner of the planet will return to what it once was. Blessed, pure._

 _A paradise._

 _Cherish your last moments, all of you. Worthless wretches of the First and Second Race._

 _For the time draws near, when you_ all _shall learn your place._

 _When Hawaiki rises again._

The voice fell away as quickly as it came, leaving no trace behind but the distant echoes of cold, cruel laughter.

[-]

"We have no choice. We need to travel to the other Dances, and prevent Whiro's forces from toppling them," said Zafira, gripping her obsidian blade fiercely.

"I don't disagree, my _Meryt Nefer_ ," Benuthet responded, now resting against a supportive Kebechet, who was taking the opportunity every few seconds to lick her partner across the face. "But we still have many considerations to take care of here before we can proceed."

"Based on all you have told me, _Nawao,_ I cannot stand in the way of your quest. It is _literally_ ordained by the gods," declared Kamehameha. "My conquest of Hawai'i means nothing if this 'Whiro' has his way. If there is anything I or my forces can offer you in aid, you've but to ask."

"Some kinda transport would be nice," Brooklyn immediately piped up, grimacing. " _How_ far did you say we are from lizard-guy's home base?"

"To _Aotearoa?_ It would not be an easy journey," the king told them, gesturing to the _Fair American_ – currently anchored about fifty feet away from the shore. "Even if I lent you this, my speediest vessel…half a moon's cycle, at the least. Possibly longer, if the tides are not fortuitous."

Benny groaned; that clearly wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for.

"At that rate, we stand little chance of catching up with Whiro," said the Egyptian gargoyle. "He doesn't appear to be limited by geography in how he reaches out to individuals in the living world."

"I do wish we could offer more," remarked John Young, watching on with sad eyes as shell-shocked warriors worked to recover fallen friends, all across the beach. "Truly, I do."

The _Fair American_ had come equipped with a small number of Hawaiian-style canoes, which were currently being used to ferry the dead for proper rites. Not only because it was what the warriors deserved…

But because the very _last_ thing they needed was to offer the corpse-eating lizard god a free power-up.

"I understand," murmured Zee, clutching even tighter at her weapon as she observed the grisly sight. "You have your own to care for. And you can hardly make miracles happen, much as we might wish it."

"Actually…we were hoping _you_ might be able to offer a miracle, _Nawao,_ " the elderly _kahuna_ suddenly spoke up, now recovered enough to approach their group on his own power – albeit, with a pronounced limp. "Otherwise, we know not where else to turn."

Cautiously, the time travelers followed the man's lead, until it became obliquely clear what he'd been referring to. Working in concert, Kamehameha's warriors and sorcerers alike had done a remarkably fine job at clearing away the remains of battle…

But even they were at a loss when one of those remains was the size and consistency of a solid mountain.

"The _Mo'o_ were sacred creatures. What was done to this one…perverting its corpse into a weapon of war…I have no words," said the priest, his throat dry. "And unless it's restored to the place it chose to rest, that crime will persist for all eternity. It will be a grievous wound upon this hallowed valley."

"Our magic allows us to move the elements. But nowhere _near_ enough to restore its body to where it should be," added one of the younger _kahuna._ "We hoped that, perhaps, if we could _combine_ our sorcery with yours…"

Benuthet held up a claw.

"That would not be advisable," he interjected, his expression stern. "As the English and Americans seem to have brought no magic-users with them, perhaps it's simply never had occasion to come up…but mixing magicks is almost _never_ a good idea. It's a lesson I've had to learn _many_ times myself – and usually the hard way."

"Besides, kid. Energy is energy," stated Brooklyn with a sigh. "Magic can only do so much. Levitating a few rocks is one thing. Whole mountains are another story – lizardy or otherwise."

But Benny lifted his palm again, silently urging quiet. He was slowly stroking his mane, clearly deep in thought.

"There…may still be one way," he muttered, reaching for his satchel. "Recall the monastery we visited in the Himalayan Mountains, my friend?"

"I was bedridden most of that Dance, remember?" said Brooklyn dryly. "Everything after we found those little yeti – Kids? Cubs? What _do_ you call a baby yeti, anyway? – is kind of a blur."

"Ah, yes. Sometimes it gets a little difficult to keep track," replied the Egyptian gargoyle. "In any event, the head monk was so grateful for our help in saving them that he granted us two of their most prized artifacts. I believe the time has finally come to use one."

"But, my love," Zafira cut in, holding her mate by the shoulder. "You remember what the monks told us. Since you aren't the fated owner of either jewel, you can only activate their power once each."

"I haven't forgotten. That is why I've been saving them for a problem that is absolutely _impossible_ to solve any other way. And I believe that moving a mountain qualifies," Benny explained. "Besides, I never expected I'd be their custodian for longer than a short while. And we'll still have our one use of the ring to fall back on."

"Very well. If you're absolutely certain," she said, nodding firmly. "Then do what you do best, my _Sak Chakmool._ "

Benuthet offered his scarlet mate a short smile. Then he turned around, facing the fallen _Mo'o_ with quiet determination.

His talons finally emerged from the satchel, carefully clutching his prize: a small pair of red earrings, adorned with black spots.

"Let what has been destroyed, return to a state of balance. By the Power of Creation, be thou restored," he intoned commandingly.

Then, he placed the earrings against the stone skin of the _Mo'o,_ and whispered, " _Mīrāculum._ "

The effect was nearly instantaneous. Swirling red energy, like a swarm of flower petals, burst forth from the jewelry, looping around and encircling the creature. The energy glowed so brightly that all onlookers couldn't help but close their eyes…

And when they opened them, the body of the _Mo'o_ had returned to the gap in the valley walls, as if it'd never left to begin with.

When Benuthet looked back, most of the humans, as well as Brooklyn, had looks of astonishment upon their faces. Even Makani had been distracted momentarily from her grief.

Zafira, however, just beamed with pride.

"My mate is _very_ capable," she said, taking hold of the scholar before his legs could give out beneath him.

[-]

As the last of the fallen warriors were being loaded onto the _Fair American,_ the travelers were once again in deep discussion with Kamehameha and his retainers.

"Given all that you've described to us thus far…" advised John Young, his tone formal and businesslike. "I'm not certain there'd be much point in sailing to New Zealand. Even if you somehow _could_ manage a speedier trip."

"Hate to say it, but he's got a point," said Brooklyn with a sigh. "It's Whiro's home turf. No way he fails to find a new host and Jenga up the next circle before we can catch up."

"Which means our focus should turn to the third," Zee added firmly. "Rapa Nui…I believe that's where Honua said the last seal was located."

"That isle, too, has been rechristened with another name…without very much input from the natives," Young informed them, his head hanging low with something that might've been shame. "The Dutch gave it the title 'Easter Island.'"

Brooklyn's head sprang up.

"Now that's one I actually _have_ heard of," he blurted out, without thinking. "I mean…sorta. My clan leader went there once."

Young raised a thick eyebrow. "Words cannot describe how curious I am to know how you travelers became so learned," he spoke softly. "But I expect there isn't time for that right now. Is there, my king?"

"If we are to press forward on all fronts we need to, 'Olohana…then I'm afraid there is not," said Kamehameha, whose stark brown eyes were watching over the last of the canoes without blinking. "This is how things shall be. 'Aikake will deliver the dead, the wounded, and half my remaining forces to Kawaihae. The rest will remain here with me. Together, we will meet back up with Ka'ahumanu and the _Nawao_ clan."

He swept his shoulders, and the yellow-feathered cloak upon them, in a regal arc, ending with his body facing the forest.

"We will conscript the warriors, human and _Nawao_ alike, in an attack of two prongs," he continued. "Once 'Aikake's vessel returns, freshly equipped with ammunition and supplies, they can crew it in a voyage toward Rapa Nui. The rest…will become an army unparalleled, with which to root out and eliminate Keōua Kū'ahu'ula."

"Hold a moment," interjected Benuthet, his leonine jaw hanging open a few inches. "That's _still_ where your focus is? Do we not have more important matters to attend to?"

"They are of equal importance, _kahuna,_ " the king declared, in a tone that brokered no room for argument. "From what you describe, Keōua wished to use the power of this 'Whiro' as a weapon against me. That he _failed_ does not make him any less dangerous. Granted, our enemy said that he was done with Hawai'i…but what reason do we have to _trust_ those words? No, Keōua is a threat that cannot be suffered to live. Now, more than ever."

"And the fact that he's the only guy standing in the way of your ambitions has _nothing_ to do with it," Brooklyn was unable to keep himself from muttering.

Several of the warriors standing guard around them reached for their weapons – even if they couldn't make out his exact words, they'd _heard_ the biting tone – but Kamehameha just regarded the TimeDancer coolly.

"I have never pretended otherwise. My cousin cannot be allowed to rule, because he is short-sighted, vainglorious, and foolish – his attempt to ally with an entity capable of such destruction is only _further_ proof," he said. "We are on the same side, _Nawao._ We have the same enemies."

"Maybe," Brooklyn allowed, though his eyes remained narrowed. "But we _definitely_ don't have the same priorities."

"All of this is academic, in any event," Young stepped in hurriedly, trying to defuse tensions. "Keep in mind, Easter Island is no shorter a journey. Two to three weeks, at the least. And if we need to wait on the _Fair American_ to disembark, resupply, and then return…that's another couple of days. Whiro could very well break _both_ seals in that amount of time."

"No matter how much we discuss this, the problem of distance remains an intractable obstacle," responded Benny. "And I'm afraid that a solution eludes me. Your sorcerers appear capable of weather control…that might shorten the trip by a few nights, if utilized properly. But it isn't enough."

"We need a miracle," Brooklyn tossed off, with a brief, humorless chuckle. "And ya kinda used up our one-per-story a couple minutes ago, Benny. Not that I'm pointing talons or anyth…"

"Very well. Then I will provide."

It was the second time in less than an hour that words had suddenly filled the night air, without any evident source. So Brooklyn couldn't really blame Kamehameha's remaining men for taking up arms and spreading out, shouting anxious war cries.

Except that, upon further reflection, this voice couldn't have been more different than Whiro's. Where his were rough and vicious, these tones were soft and ethereal…and very distinctly feminine.

And while his words had seemed to come from all directions, and therefore none, to a gargate's sensitive hearing the origin was immediately clear. Brooklyn, Benuthet, Zafira, Fu-Dog, and Kebechet – and some distance away, Makani – all turned their faces to the sky.

Where the moon, now about a week from fullness, was shining with near-blinding intensity.

But even as they watched, the shaft of moonlight bearing down upon the beach seemed to… _shift,_ and _twist._ Bending in ways that didn't look in any way natural.

Until eventually, the moonbeam took on something like solidness, and formed itself…

Into a long, flowing pathway.

The warriors had been stunned into silence by the sight, which meant that for several long, agonizing minutes, there was almost no sound upon the Waimanu Valley beach. Only the soft _tap, tap, tap_ of footsteps.

They could see her long before she arrived – descending like a model, slowly drifting down a spiral staircase. The comparison was apt; even more so than Pele, Brooklyn was all but certain that, if one was attracted to human females, hers would be a face of near- _unparalleled_ beauty.

The expressions on the faces of Kamehameha's men seemed to bear this out. Even the king himself appeared a bit slack-jawed.

And of course, like Pele…

The TimeDancer was all but _certain_ this woman of inhuman splendor was, indeed, anything but.

She was dressed in flowing silvers and blues, though a great deal of her gorgeous bronze skin remained bare. Like Pele, she wore a lei around her neck, a vibrant collection of pinkish flowers and lush green leaves.

Her expression was soft, yet firm; mature, yet youthful. She was mother and maiden at once, but at all times the pinnacle of beauty.

She touched down upon the sands like they were soft as silk, simply because hers were the feet that graced them.

"I have been watching you, champions. And I know what you seek," she said, her voice still echoing somehow, even though she was now only a few feet away. "In this, I will offer what boons I can."

She raised one hand slowly, beckoning to the water. It bubbled and churned, and then – though it didn't seem as if such a thing should be possible – at the very edge of the shore, it yielded a new, much smaller vessel.

A _familiar_ vessel.

"Haven't seen one of these up close since my third Dance," Brooklyn murmured softly. "But that's…"

"An Avalonian skiff," Benuthet finished for him, his tones reverent. "I've only seen them in illustrations."

"My father, Kāne, is one of the hands by which it was crafted. The other was my uncle, Kanaloa," spoke the goddess. "Both…are in grave danger. You travelers are their only hope."

"Is that why you're helping us? For their sake?" asked Zafira. "Who _are_ you, anyway?"

But the woman just quietly shook her head.

"I care for all my family dearly. But for none more than he who has always been by my side," she answered. "My eternal protector and champion. My brother in flesh and spirit. And, at once…my husband for all time."

She took a step toward the skiff, and gestured for them to climb aboard.

"And so, travelers. If you are determined to rescue the hero Māui…" she finished, a wave of determination washing over her stunning features.

"Then you may ask whatever you wish of Hina, Lady of the Moon."


End file.
